


Christmas in July

by GentleReader1



Category: Hart of Dixie
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2019-10-27 06:45:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17761814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GentleReader1/pseuds/GentleReader1
Summary: Takes off from the end of "In Havoc & In Heat"...what if Wade persuaded Zoe to come inside?





	1. Chapter One

**A/N: I discovered Hart of Dixie just a few months ago (thanks, Netflix!) and raced my way through the series. Zoe and Wade have some of the best onscreen chemistry I've seen in awhile, and I just love the feel-good vibe of the show. I may have watched the end of In Havoc & In Heat a few dozen times, until a story started spinning itself in my head...hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Of course I own nothing pertaining to Hart of Dixie, or a certain Christmas classic.**

**Christmas in July**

Chapter One

It wants just a few ticks to midnight when she shows up at his door, Cinderella in a little black slip…and damn if the sight of her through his old blinds doesn't make his blood race.

His instinct is to grab her, pull her inside, and take off that silky slip as fast as he possibly can (which, considering that feminine clothing removal is a particular talent of his, is pretty fast). But he doesn't. So far, he's been enjoying the spectacle of her calling the shots: _"Your place. 11:30."_ Lord above, he'd never closed up so fast in all his time at the Rammer Jammer.

Zoe Hart, lured out of her comfort zone of "calculated risks" by the Alabama heat, is the sexiest thing he's seen in a long time.

So he opens the door, steps outside, and waits. Stands just close enough that she doesn't have to come too far. She looks up at him from under those lashes—there's a little smirk on her face that says she knows exactly what she's doing to him right now, but somehow he holds himself almost still, and she leans in…he comes a fraction closer and those bee-stung lips are parted and ready. The electricity that always hums between them is at full voltage now—crackling and popping, a fusebox full of sparks, and there's barely a breath between his mouth and hers—

The first drop of rain crashes down on him like a tolling bell, and he stands there and watches the flame in her eyes sputter, replaced by cold doubt and "consequences."

Dammit.

In two seconds, she'll be gone, so he reaches out one finger and curls it around hers, just to keep her from running. He knows the moment is over, but something in him is resisting the inevitable.

"Heat wave's broke," he remarks, tightening his grip, just a little. "Doesn't mean you can't come inside." He's not even suggesting a hookup now—he just wants to keep her here, a step away from him, a little longer. But she doesn't know that.

"Actually it does…I'm just not a one-night-stand kind of girl." She sounds almost as regretful as he feels, and the thought of her trudging back to the carriage house through the rain and laying in her lonely bed pushes him to do… _something_.

So he shrugs. "Well…are you maybe a watch-a-movie kind of girl? 'Cause we could get outta this rain…" At her skeptical look, he lets go of her and raises his hands high. "Nothin' else. I swear."

She tilts her head, considering, and it's ridiculous because they are both getting soaked, but suddenly he is grinning like a fool because she says, "O.K."

They duck inside. She shakes her hair and water droplets fly everywhere.

"I'll get you a towel. DVDs are over there." He points to a basket by the TV.

Going into the bathroom, he strips off his drenched flannel, throws on a fresh t-shirt, and swipes enough detritus into the garbage to take the bathroom from "disgusting" back to "bachelor." Then he grabs a towel, shirt, and sweats for her.

"Here…in case you want to change…" his voice trails off.

She sits barefoot and crosslegged in front of the basket, her hair running in damp waves down her back, one strap sliding down her shoulder, and her slip just kissing the smooth skin of her thighs…sweet Jesus. He swallows and focuses on her amused smile as she holds up a DVD with a black-and-white cover.

"Wasn't expecting to find this," she grins.

He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah—Frank had it on sale at the Dixie Stop last year. It…was my mother's favorite."

A lifetime ago, when the little shack on the lake was still a home, when his dad still made jokes and didn't reek of old malt liquor, when the house smelled of gingerbread and the colored lights twinkled outside and he checked his stocking every day (just in case), his mother would pop corn and make cocoa and they'd settle into the worn sofa and watch.

Now, here, the doc stands before him, her brown eyes soft. She doesn't know much about his family, but she can feel the emptiness radiating off of him.

"It hasn't been opened," she comments quietly.

"Guess I haven't had anyone to watch it with."

"Well, I know it's July, but I've never seen it," she says hopefully. "I'm half-Jewish, but the holidays were never a big deal in my house anyway. We usually took a cruise." Her tone is offhand, but clearly she feels she's missed out on something. They share that, at least.

"OK, Doc, Jimmy Stewart it is. You go dry off and I'll make the popcorn."

Ten minutes later, they're on the couch, a bowl of popcorn between them. Zoe is not so much wearing his clothes as engulfed by them: his favorite blue flannel flops over her hands and she's rolled up the sweats to avoid tripping on them. There's hardly an inch of her honey skin to be seen, and Wade thinks of the little black dress in silent regret. Even so, she's adorable, one hand in the bowl and eyes rapt on the screen. He feels an unexpected tightening in his chest, and his mind spins a quick fantasy of more nights like this, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her…he leans over to whisper in her ear and she turns to him, eyes dancing…

_What in the actual hell?_

He should be feeling disappointed right now. He was expecting to be several minutes into Round 1 of their "free pass"—his lips ghosting over her delicate jawline, fingers skimming over her curves, tongue finding its way into the soft hollow of her collarbone...her eyes widening and her breath hitching…

The point is, they should both by rights be naked in his chocolate-colored sheets, instead of covered to the chin in flannel, and yet somehow he is settling for cozy domesticity of a sort that Wade Kinsella simply doesn't do. Particularly since, in actual fact, they're not even touching. He might as well be watching a movie with Lavon for all the action he's likely to get tonight.

"Wade? Earth to Wade…"

He realizes that he's hunched over, arms crossed, one lip curled in frustration. Not a good look for charming a lady.

Apparently, Zoe agrees. She pauses the movie. "If you're not into this, I could just go—"

"No!" Too loud. _Get out of your head, idiot._ He stretches his arm along the back of the couch. "I'm definitely into this."

She glances at his hand, now resting a couple of inches from her shoulder. "O…kay. So, that George—he's kind of a dark horse, huh?"

No sex. And now, they're talking about goddamn Tucker. _Maybe I'm not so into this after all._

"I dunno." He tips his beer back and takes a long swallow. "He always seems about as straight as the arrow he has up his ass—"

"Really? But the way he kissed Mary just now—so much passion—I mean, where did that come from?" she wonders.

"Wha—" Just in time, he realizes she's talking about George Bailey, not Golden Boy. Relief flows through him. "Oh—right—well, what's that thing they say? Still waters run deep, or somethin'?"

Zoe looks at him for a long moment. "Yeah, I guess love can make perfectly sane, steady people do crazy things."

Wade grins. "Love—or a Bluebell heat wave." He pulls a lock of her hair playfully and she bats his hand away.

"Shut up," she says, turning the movie back on. "Don't distract me—I want to see how this turns out."

"Me too, Doc." He's not talking about the movie.

* * *

Later, after George has made his triumphant return to Bedford Falls, and Clarence has gotten his wings, he turns to see her swipe a lone tear from her cheek. She smiles over at him a little sheepishly. "I can see why your mom liked it."

"Yep, she was always one to believe that we should all be lookin' after each other. Before she died, she told me not to worry, because I'd have plenty of mamas in Bluebell to keep me straight."

"And did you?"

He laughs shortly. "I had plenty of mamas, all right—and Crazy Earl and I, between us, disappointed every one of 'em."

She's facing him over the popcorn bowl now, and her hand reaches toward him, then stops. "You talk a big game, but I bet you weren't that bad. Lots of those mamas still have a soft spot for Wade Kinsella, if the bench ladies are any indication."

"Well, it wasn't for lack of trying. Still, I was lucky to have grown up here… You'll find out—they'll take care of you, too."

Her eyes fall and she sighs, playing with the edge of his shirt cuff. "Somehow, I think that if I disappeared from Bluebell, everything would stay exactly the same. Except that Brick would order a bonfire in celebration."

"C'mon, Doc..give yourself some credit. I think you've had a profound effect on this town—it never occurred to anybody before you came that short shorts were appropriate office wear!"

She rolls her eyes and throws a piece of popcorn at him, but the gesture is half –hearted. "Seriously." Her voice is small, and Wade's heart squeezes painfully again. "I'm never going to get thirty percent of Brick's patients. I let Old Man Jackson run over George and I misdiagnosed Cole Maleska and on top of _that_ I ruined the Founder's Day parade—"

"You also delivered a baby in the Breeland's front room and saved Oscar Valderrama's life. And you did pretty good work today—" He grabs her hand, puts it over where the bandage crinkles under his shirt—"I'll let you stitch me up anytime."

A half-smile, one that doesn't reach her eyes, appears briefly. "Thanks, Wade." She pulls her hand back to cover a sudden, enormous yawn. "I'd better go."

Somehow he knows that when she walks out the door, the temporary truce that's held between them the last two hours—that's allowed them to be almost human to each other, instead of keeping one another at bay with barbs and sarcasm—will disappear, too. He points to her shoes, abandoned by the door. "You'll ruin those Manolowhatevers walking back—it's gonna be messier than Burt Reynold's breakfast out there. Lemme see what I got for you."

He heads back to his closet, rooting around until he manages to uncover a pair of battered slippers, possibly relics from a long-ago fling. Not great, but they'll do. On his way back, he stops in the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Halfway through, he looks up at himself in the mirror, and wonders for the third or fourth time that night why his brain seems to exit stage left whenever Zoe Hart is around.

What exactly does he think is going to happen here? He'll walk her back (which is, to be fair, just common decency on his part. It's coal-dark out there, and the path is cratered with mucky, ankle-turning holes)…and then, what? A sweet kiss on her front porch? Gee whilikers, maybe he should ask her to the prom!

This is _so_ not Wade Kinsella. Wade Kinsella, who doesn't do "courting," who would never demand, but isn't above a little persuasion (another of his special talents). Wade Kinsella, who was propositioned no less than three times at the Rammer Jammer tonight, and who accepted the only offer that _wasn't_ a surefire, done-deal horizontal tango.

He spits out the toothpaste in disgust, grabs the slippers, and walks back out to the living room. "All right, Doc, let's go," he says tersely.

She's not there.

 _Damn that New York, I-can-do-it-myself cussedness—now I'll have to find her in the dark._ He stomps to the front door and yanks it open, ready to call out to her to wait, when he hears a soft little sigh behind him.

She's curled up, knees to her chest, tiny palms under her cheek, looking like she's twelve years old. Completely asleep, and if her slight smile is any indication, already dreaming.

Wade blows out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and grabs a blanket. Tucking it around her, he drops a whisper of a kiss on her hair. He falls into bed, expecting to toss and turn with the consciousness of her so near, but instead he is asleep immediately.

And she's not the only one who's smiling.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Thanks for reading! Reviews much appreciated, especially since this is my first HoD story. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and follows! This story was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but it took a turn and now it looks like we have a ways to go…hope you enjoy!

**Chapter Two**

The morning sun slants through the gatehouse windows, nudging Wade awake. He sits up, wondering briefly why he's wearing his jeans, before remembering that he has a guest.

Maybe. If she didn't sneak out sometime after dawn.

He creeps over to the sofa…she's still there, chestnut locks tumbled around her face, blanket nestled under her chin. Slipping on his shoes, he leaves her a quick note ("Be right back") written on a Rammer Jammer napkin and quietly heads out the door to Lavon's.

Fifteen minutes later, he's coming back down the path, whistling and juggling two cups of coffee with some pastries in a paper sack. He stops mid-whistle when he sees Bill Martin's truck parked by the pond, the man himself standing on his porch, hand raised to knock.

_Shit._

"Bill!" he calls, not too loudly. Bill Martin is married to Missy, one of those infernal Belles. Together, they put enough gossip in the Bluebell pipeline to power the Blawker for months on end. If Zoe comes to the door right now, their little escapade will be headline news before his coffee's even cold.

Wade isn't sure he would altogether mind this…it certainly would send a message to one George Tucker…but no doubt Zoe feels differently.

Fortunately, Bill turns and waves. "Wade! Can you see your way to loaning me your chainsaw? Storm knocked down our old elm right behind Missy's car. She can't get anywhere!"

 _Thank God for small mercies_ , Wade thinks as he steps onto the porch, setting the coffee mugs and paper bag on his rickety metal table.

"It's around here," he gestures for Bill to follow him to the shed, but the man gives Wade a quizzical glance. "Goin' double-fisted on the caffeine this mornin'…or might you have a lady in there?" he insinuates with a good-ol-boy smirk.

Wade shrugs and walks around the corner. "Long day ahead," he tosses over his shoulder, silently wishing Bill, Missy, and their elm tree to perdition.

Luckily, the chainsaw is quickly found and Wade is just about to hand it over when he hears Zoe's voice: "Wade?"

Quick as lightning, he pulls the starter on the saw and it roars to life. "Just checkin' it works!" he yells to Bill.  _Don'tcomeoutdon'tcomeoutdon'tcome_ —

But there she is, in all her sleep-rumpled, flannel-covered glory, stepping barefoot out onto the porch and gazing at the coffee like it's the path to salvation. "Is this for me? I could practically—"

"Why, Dr. Hart! Good mornin' to you!" She looks up to see Bill grinning hugely. Behind Bill, Wade scrubs a hand over his face. This. Is. Not. Good.

"Um, hello," she offers faintly, before turning tail and dashing back inside.

Wade sighs and gives Bill the chainsaw. "Well, I guess you better get back—Missy's probably getting anxious to get to the Butter Stick! Good luck with that tree," he smiles wanly.

Bill slaps him on the shoulder, much too heartily. "I would wish  _you_  luck, Kinsella—but looks like you hit the jackpot!" He heads back to his truck, guffawing all the way.

Wade watches him pull out and turns back to his front door. He suddenly knows how those guys in Bataan must have felt as he heads inside, where she is slumped on the couch.

"Yeah…sorry about that. On the bright side, I brought you a buttermilk muffin!" He holds the bag up hopefully.

"Great. A buttermilk muffin. Well worth the loss of my reputation." Her sarcasm could cut that muffin right in half. "WHY am I so stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" Each "stupid" is punctuated by a slap to her forehead.

"C'mon, Doc, heat wave…people do crazy things…it's not that big a deal." This is, he belatedly realizes, the wrong thing to say as she jumps up, stamping her tiny foot.

"Not that big a deal? NOT THAT BIG A DEAL?! Well, maybe for you, Casanova Kinsella, but for someone who's trying to convince this town that she can be responsible for their health and well-being, it does not look good to be having one-night stands with the local bartender!"

This stings. He can't help himself: "Well, maybe you shoulda thought of that before you came on to me in the Rammer Jammer last night!"

"That's the thing—I DID think of it! As soon as the rain started, I knew it would be a mistake—" Wade winces. "And now I'm going to suffer all of the consequences without any of the—"

Wade steps close (too close) and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "Any of the what, Doc? 'Cause if you're feelin' like you got gypped last night, I can't say I disagree." His voice goes husky as he trails his thumb down her cheek. "But we can rectify that right now. I want to make sure you leave here one-hundred-percent satisfied that you got your consequences' worth."

Her chest is heaving and her eyes flash fire, but she looks at his lips just a fraction too long. He dips his head as she tilts her chin up, and he kisses her, pouring into it all his hurt and frustration and the longing underneath. Then her arms are around his neck, she's biting his bottom lip, arching into him, and a slim shoot of hope starts to unfurl in his chest (not to mention other parts of his anatomy). He's about to lift her up and over to the bed when she pulls away.

"Stop." He lets her go, and they both step back, breathless. She puts one hand to her lips and glances up at him, too quickly, before turning around to put some distance between them. " _What_  is wrong with me?"

"Nothin's wrong with you." He snakes one arm around her waist from behind and whispers in her ear, "You are exactly, perfectly, right. Together we're not so bad, either." Her head tips back and he kisses her neck softly, slowly.  _C'mon, Zoe, let yourself go_ , he thinks…but a few seconds later, she is squirming out of his grasp.

"No—no—no—this is  _not_  happening."

Now it's Wade's turn to walk away, running a hand through his hair and wondering if, in fact, the lady doctor is going to be the death of him. "Whatever you say, Doc." He picks up the slippers and hands them to her. "Look, if it'll make you feel better, I'm happy to tell the whole town that nothin' happened between us," and then, bitingly, "It's only the God's honest truth, after all."

"Yeah, that'll sound plausible. I mean, you have platonic sleepovers all the time, right?"

"I didn't say they'd believe me," he smirks.

"You are impossible," she groans, as she grabs her things and stomps out the door. He picks up her forgotten muffin and waits. Sure enough, in seconds, she's back.

"Thanks," she mutters as he holds it out to her.

"Hey, Doc?"

" _What_?"

"Just so we're clear…that last kiss? You can't blame that on the heat."

The sound of the door quaking on its frame reverberates through the little house for quite some time.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews welcomed! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: When** **I write multichapter stories, I often alternate POVs because you get a much deeper understanding of the characters when you see events from their perspective. The first two chapters of this story needed to be from Wade's POV, but now we turn to Zoe…**

**Chapter Three**

Zoe pushes open the door to the practice with no small amount of trepidation. Somehow she has managed to get here without running into anyone, for which she's grateful, and she's hoping to slip into her office unnoticed.

The waiting room is in chaos. Addy is behind the desk, trying to referee who's next in line while holding the phone between her ear and shoulder. "Today? All that's left is a 3:30."

"Dr. Hart! Why, hello!" Shula Whitaker announces, and the whole room quiets.

Zoe looks around. "Um, what's going on? Did they serve the day-old catfish special down at the Depot again?"

Addy comes up to her, arms full of files. "You start with Shula first, then Tom at 9:30, Mrs. Tark at 9:45, and Magnolia at 10—"

"Magnolia?" She spots the petite blonde, who smirks and then coughs delicately into one hand, and whispers to Addy, "Aren't these all Brick's patients?"

The older woman gives her a significant look. "Not today, they're not."

Zoe takes the files, and turns to Shula with a look of foreboding. "OK, Shula, let's go."

Shula hops up onto the exam table, as nimble as Zoe has ever seen her. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"Well, you know, I felt just a mite dizzy when I got out of bed this morning."

"Mm-hmm," Zoe says, marking a note in Shula's chart and picking up her opthalmoscope. "So what happened then? Look to the right, please."

"I sat down at the table, and had me a glass of juice."

Zoe moves to the other eye. "Good idea. Then what? Look left."

Pupils fine, focusing normally. She starts to wrap Shula's arm in the blood pressure cuff.

"Then…I decided to have a little toast."

Pressure slightly elevated but within normal range. Pulse the same.

"OK. How do you feel now?" Zoe steps back and looks at the older woman, who seems to be supressing some great excitement.

"Why, now I feel just fine!"

Zoe barely refrains from rolling her eyes. Shula obviously has nothing whatsoever wrong with her, but she is a paying customer, so… "I see! Well, that's great news, Shula, and thanks for coming in. I think you're good to go; just be sure to stay hydrated…oh, and give Prince Purr-fection a special pat from me!"

"Well, thank you doctor." Zoe closes up her file, but Shula makes no move to get down from the table. "So Dr. Hart, did you make it through the heat wave OK? I know that old carriage house don't have any A/C…"

 _Here we go_ , Zoe thinks. She puts on an imperturbable smile. "Nope! I was just fine, though. Ran my fans a bunch, drank a lot of ice water…" She helps Shula down from the table and guides her out the door.

"I guess it's lucky it broke now," Shula ventures as she steps back into the waiting room. "Crazy things always happen in the heat." Her tone is kindly, sympathetic, and Zoe groans inside.

What can she even say? If she denies it, she'll be the object of universal pity, but acknowledging that she spent the night at Wade's is definitely a bridge too far. The noncommittal tack seems best, especially since nothing happened.

 _Well. Not "nothing,"_ says a little voice inside her head. She flushes, thinking of Wade's strong arms around her, the heat that ran through her, the deep kisses that turned her bones liquid and made her want to forget the rules she's lived by for so long. She has to admit, if only to herself, that there's something between them that she's never experienced before. She dated Nate for six years, and even in the beginning, the sex was…nice. It was comforting, and, very quickly, it was familiar. There was never the kind of urgency she feels with Wade, the magnetism drawing her toward him, even as (maybe because?) he drives her crazy. Sometimes when they're arguing, she loses her train of thought because there's a glint in his green eyes, or a quirk of his lips, that makes her knees weak.

As Addy said yesterday, though, that's no reason she has to succumb.

Three more patients come in with no discernable medical issues, but an urgent desire to talk about how Zoe spent the previous evening. Tom Long inquires, somewhat huffily, how her head is ("Heard Polly Parker whacked you one. Hope it didn't affect your brain or anything."); Mrs. Tark tells her about the time Wade rescued one of the twins when she'd climbed too far up a tree; and Magnolia Breeland, whose lungs are perfectly clear, saucily asks whether she prefers the Rammer Jammer to "them fancy clubs in New York."

Finally, Zoe calls Addy in. "What's going on?"

Addy drops another armful of files on her desk, and comes around to tap Zoe's laptop into life. She enters a URL and steps back. At the the top of the Blawker's website is a picture of Zoe from the gumbo cookoff and a headline that reads, "Doctor Makes Heat Wave House Call."

"Oh no," she groans again, and falls into her desk chair.

"Just so you know," Addy says quickly, "It wasn't me. And Shelley came tearing in here at 8:30 to tell you it wasn't her, either—only you weren't here yet, and she had to get to her mom's in Mobile."

"No, I know it wasn't you or Shelley. Some guy stopped by Wade's this morning and saw me."

"Was it Bill Martin? Married to that Belle, Missy?" Zoe nods. "Oh, girl—I saw him spillin' his guts a mile a minute to Dash in the Butter Stick this morning." She looks Zoe up and down, very carefully. "So…"

"Oh, Addy, not you too!" Zoe exclaims.

"What? I can't help it! We've all been wonderin' what was gonna happen, ever since you got here and Wade started lookin' at you like you was a 20-ounce Porterhouse and he hadn't eaten in a week…"

"Um, ew…but also, really? I mean, it's not like Wade has been, y'know, going hungry…" Although, when she really thinks about it, she hasn't seen any girls sneaking out of his place in the last few weeks—other than herself.

Addy rolls her eyes, "No, no one worries about Wade Kinsella havin' enough on his plate." Zoe realizes she's starting to feel a little queasy…must be the metaphor. "But Zoe, honey, he's a man with a widely varying appetite. He doesn't usually stick to one dish."

Yep, definitely queasy.

Zoe shakes her head. "You know what, Addy? It doesn't matter if Wade likes to eat at a different buffet every night—" God, now  _she's_  doing it!—"because nothing happened."

Addy folds her arms and looks at her sternly. "You tore outta here last night with a fistful of condoms, talking about your one chance to be crazy, and  _spent the night_  at Wade Kinsella's, and you tryin' to tell me nothing happened? I wasn't born yesterday, child."

Dropping her head in her hands, Zoe groans. "I know. No one will believe me—or him, for that matter. But it's true. I went over there, fully intending to—well, you know—but then the heat wave broke and the rain started and we watched  _It's a Wonderful Life_  and…I fell asleep," she finishes lamely.

A long moment, while Addy raises one eyebrow and fixes her with a steely-eyed stare, and Zoe stares back, uncertain and yet defiant. Then Addie laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

"I'm glad my messed-up life is providing you with comic relief."

Wiping her eyes, Addy says, "You're serious, aren't you? Well, as I live and breathe…maybe Cupid has finally caught up with our Wade."

Zoe thinks back to last night, to Wade sharing stories about his mom and reassuring her that she was making a difference in Bluebell. Then there was this morning—the raw animal hunger of him, and his taunts as she left—that's the Wade Kinsella she's been familiar with since her first day here. She shakes her head. "I don't think so. He just wants another notch on his bedpost or whatever, and luckily, I came to my senses first."

"I've known Wade a long time, Zoe, and I think maybe you're not givin' him enough credit," Addy says softly.

Zoe puts her hands on her desk and stands up determinedly. "Well, it doesn't really matter because I have no intention of getting involved with anyone in Bluebell. I need to focus on my practice and getting enough patients to see me instead of Brick. This whole Blawker thing will blow over soon enough—"

"You'd better hope not!" Addy interjected. "You've got a roomful of patients out there right now, thanks to the Blawker. You play your cards right, and you'll have your thirty percent and then some by the end of the month."

"So what are you saying? I should use my pathetic lovelife to lure people in here? Addy, I can't do that—it's dishonest. And Wade would never agree, anyway."

Addy gives her an "I-know-him-better-than-you" look, but says only, "Don't be so dramatic. I just mean, you don't have to make any big proclamation as to what you did, or didn't, do. Just smile mysteriously and treat the hell out of everyone that walks in here. Once they've given you a chance, they'll be back."

"This town…" Zoe shakes her head.

"You can't blame them. This is the most exciting thing that's happened in Bluebell since…you crashed the mayor's float!"

Addy's laughter follows her out the door.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**I love Addy and her no-nonsense yet compassionate approach to Zoe. I wish she had remained a series regular all the way through, and I'm hoping to find more opportunities for her here.**

**Thank you for the reviews and Kudos! Feedback is like candy for writers-we could do without it, but it's MUCH more enjoyable with!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_May 1993_

_Mary Jane Peters had the nicest smile, and the dirtiest blue jeans, of any girl in the sixth grade. She didn't priss around like Lemon Breeland and her crowd, even though Mary Jane was from one of the oldest families in southern Alabama and, her mother was constantly reminding her, would soon be called upon to "clean up her act" and "honor her heritage" as a full-fledged Belle._

_Mary Jane didn't care about any of that. She liked fishing, and crawdad-hunting, and making forts in the woods._

_And she liked Wade._

_She made no bones about it, didn't act silly or flip her hair or glance sideways at him. She just talked matter-of-factly, as they sat on the pier baiting hooks, or dug through the mucky sand on the shore, about what life would be like when they got married and moved into the cabin Wade would build for them._

_But Wade was already learning that his smile had a certain power, and when he looked at a girl in just the right way, she was likely to blush and giggle, and if he sat next to her at lunch, he was pretty much guaranteed to get the choicest bits out of her lunchbox. And while Mary Jane was his best friend, all that other stuff was pretty compelling._

_So when Mary Jane talked about their future, Wade rolled his eyes and huffed, "I ain't gettin' married. I'm goin' cross-country on my motorcycle." Then he would pull her chestnut-colored braid and challenge her to a race up the pier or to who could catch the biggest catfish, and that would be that._

_He never saw the hurt look in her eyes, and he didn't really notice, at first, when she stopped coming to the pier or the shore. But one day after school, feeling pretty good about himself because he had scored Missy Bailey's Hostess cupcake_ _ and _ _her BBQ chips at lunch, he sauntered over to Mary Jane and said, "Hey, MJ, Sal told me he'd give me a dollar a pound for crawdads if I'd bring him some this afternoon. Want to come with me and split the profits?" It dawned on him then that she was wearing a dress, white with blue flowers. "'Course, you'll have to get out of that rig, first."_

" _Crawdads? No, thanks," she said, and looked over her shoulder. George Tucker came up to them (George Tucker, who always wore a nicely-pressed shirt to school, because he still had a momma), nodded to Wade, and said to Mary Jane, "You ready?"_

" _Where you goin'?" Wade asked, as George shouldered Mary Jane's backpack._

" _Just into town, to get some ice cream," George replied, smiling at Mary Jane. "I would ask you to go with us, but—"_

" _I can't anyway. Stuff to do," Wade said quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning toward home._

_Something (maybe the cupcake?) burned in his stomach when he looked over his shoulder at them, holding hands and looking light and carefree. It took him two hours to dig up enough crawdads to earn one measly dollar, and he never did it again._

* * *

Wade has just gotten home when there's a knock on his door. "It's open!" he yells from the kitchenette.

"It's me!" Zoe calls, and he nearly drops the ice tray he's holding. "I, um…brought you a pizza."

He doesn't turn around, still busy with the ice. "I already ate, but thanks." He hopes his tone is surly enough to get her stomping out the door, but she's Zoe Hart and she marches right up to him, yelling all the while.

"Hey—I came over here to  _thank_  you because you know what? Everyone was so curious about our little escapade that I had 17 patients today—and not a thing wrong with any of them (except Dewey Smith, who got the biggest splinter I've ever seen playing on the pier), other than a burning need to know what happened between you and me! And you can't even give me the time of day? I can't believe you're so mad that I wouldn't—"

She pulls on his arm to turn him around and gasps when she sees his face, where a livid bruise is beginning to spread over his right cheekbone, and the skin is split just below his eye.

"Wade! Oh my God!" She reaches out to touch him and he flinches. "I won't hurt you—I just want to look," she says, in calming doctor mode now. "It's not too bad, but you'll need that cut cleaned and bandaged. I'll just get my bag. Stay here—the light's better."

She cleans the wound and puts a butterfly bandage on it, then picks up the icepack he's made. "Hold this on there for at least fifteen minutes."

"Can I sit down now?"

They go into the living room and sit on the couch. Zoe shakes her head at him. "You certainly know how to find trouble. Yesterday, the fence, today…what was it? A disgruntled boyfriend?"

"Not…exactly. George Tucker."

"George? Did  _that_?"

"Yeah, he got lucky. Caught me from my blind side, or he never woulda gotten one in like this."

"Why in the world—"

"'Cause I woulda—oh, you mean why'd he punch me? Apparently he takes a certain—interest—in your wellbeing. You saw the Blawker today?" Zoe nods. "He confronted me about it and I told him it was none of his damn business, which it isn't, by the way." Wade's free hand clenches at the memory of goddamn Golden Boy interrogating him about Zoe—as if he didn't have a fiancée to be thinking about!

"Wade! Why didn't you just tell him nothing happened?"

He looks at her for a long moment, then says with an edge, "I guess you wouldn't want your Big Apple buddy thinkin' you've sullied yourself with the likes of me."

Zoe flinches, as though she's been slapped, and stands to her full five-four (with heels). "How  _dare_  you. Just what, exactly, is your problem with George Tucker, anyway? All he's done is be nice to me, which is more than I can say for 90 percent of the people in this town. Just because he's accomplished something in his life, just because he had the gall to leave Bluebell for awhile—"

Now Wade's back is up too, and though he knows he shouldn't, he matches her glare for glare (out of one eye, anyway). "George's career choices have nothin' to do with this. I just don't happen to think he should be takin' the pretty new doctor two towns over, in secret, to buy gumbo ingredients and putting his fist through my face to protect your honor, seein' as how he's gonna marry Lemon Breeland in a couple months!"

The flash of pain he sees on her face is not as satisfying as it should be, considering that it confirms his suspicions: she's pretty far gone for good ol' George. No wonder she's "not a one-night stand kind of girl," and no wonder that she's doing her best to ignore the white-hot chemistry between them…she's running some fantasy where George jettisons the last fifteen years of his life for her. All while he, like an idiot, has been making popcorn and sharing memories and taking punches. Really, it's hard to choose between them for who's a bigger fool.

On some level, she must be able to see all this, as she bites out, "I am well aware that he's taken, as Lemon herself reminds me nonstop, when she's not conspiring to run me out of Bluebell on a rail. There's nothing going on between George and me."

"Doesn't mean you don't want somethin' to be goin' on," Wade says stubbornly.  _You just couldn't leave it alone, could you? Now look what you've done._ Zoe is literally shaking with anger.

She picks up her bag and stalks out the door. A wave of guilt hits him right between the eyes, and he drops the ice pack and hurries out after her. "Doc, wait—" he calls.

But she's down the steps and rounding the pond as fast as those stupid heels allow, brushing furiously at the tears running down her face. Each sob tears at his heart, and he sinks down in one of the rusted metal chairs on his deck, wondering why in the hell he is such an absolute, unremitting jackass.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

 


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I have taken a teensy bit of artistic license in this chapter: I know Zoe says she's wanted to be a surgeon since she was nine, but for my purposes, it had to be after Ethan found out she wasn't his daughter. Also, I've introduced Meatball here, which I believe is well before he lumbers into Bluebell on the show. Please forgive the anachronisms!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

After cursing out Wade, most of the town of Bluebell, and every mode of transportation that brought her here, Zoe takes a long, hot bath. Later, she throws on an old sweater and a pair of leggings and curls up on the couch. She's starving, and she badly needs a glass of wine, but she doesn't have the energy to venture out at the moment.

The unwelcome thought comes to her that the Bluebellians, and Wade in particular, are not really to blame for her current situation. It started, of course, with the lost fellowship and her life falling apart in New York. No—to be accurate (an important quality in a surgeon), it started when she was ten and her "father" dropped out of her life. She did a psych rotation at Bellevue, after all, and she can recognize "daddy issues" even in herself.

Ethan was never a super-involved dad, but that was pretty normal for their Manhattan set—the dads (and some of the moms, like hers) worked and traveled and it wasn't unusual for there to be a row of nannies or, sometimes, grandmas at the school play or choir performance.

But still, after that summer she broke her arm, Ethan was almost never around. Before, he would bring her things from his various trips, or call her to say goodnight. Both the souvenirs and the phone calls virtually stopped, and instead there was a lot more of her mother whisper-yelling and walking around with red, puffy eyes. Ethan came home occasionally, but it always seemed to coincide with a gala or concert or premiere, and Zoe was left cooling her heels while they paraded one red carpet or another.

She didn't understand what had happened, only knew that there were no more father-daughter bagel dates or visits to the Met. It was probably her fault, she decided, and worked harder in school and was unfailingly bright and cheerful the rare times she spoke to her dad. It didn't seem to make much difference. When she was 12, though, her mother hosted one of her "celebrity dinners," which Ethan decided to grace with his presence. As she often was, Zoe was allowed to sit with them for the dessert course. One of the guests asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, and she announced, "A cardio-thoracic surgeon."

There were smiles all around the table, and even one "Oh, how sweet," but Zoe only cared about her father's reaction. He didn't look thrilled, as she hoped he would, but the chill left his eyes, and his expression softened. Zoe would take what she could get, and from then on, their conversations revolved around how to get into medical school and what it took to be a great surgeon.

Including, according to Ethan, being detached. Not getting involved. Which, since she had 18 years to practice it, she had been very good at. So good that she detached from everything…leading to the loss of both the fellowship and her boyfriend, and thus to the move to Bluebell.

 _This "learning to be human" business sucks_ , she thinks. She loves her friendship with Lavon, and it genuinely feels good when someone brings her a pie or smiles at her in the town square. But her lovelife? Disaster.

Why? Why does the only decent guy in this godforsaken place have to be engaged? ( _Not the_ only _decent guy_ , that treacherous voice in her head says.) The thing is, Wade is not wrong. She  _does_  wish George were available, that they could spend cozy evenings by her fireplace talking about his cases and hers (within confidentiality limits, of course), roll their eyes in mutual amusement at Tom Long's puppyish eagerness and Shula's cat fancy, and pop up to New York to visit their favorite haunts together. When her year in Bluebell ends, they could move back to Manhattan. It would be so perfect— _they_  would be so perfect.

( _Except that George is marrying Lemon Breeland. And has no intention of leaving Bluebell._   _And then there's Wade…)_

Wade is a puzzle she can't seem to figure out. He's had three opportunities now to push her farther than she's prepared to go (and she has a feeling he can be very, very convincing), but he's backed off each time. He took a punch for her today when he didn't have to, although perhaps it plays into his purposes to let George think they've been together.

But he also knows exactly how to get under her skin, as Shelley put it. He loves poking holes in her big city pretensions and laughing at her fish-out-of-water mistakes. He's seen right through her feelings for George ever since the parade. And he seems to delight in making her angry.

Although what he said to her before she stormed out of the gatehouse went beyond his typical teasing. Wade is often infuriating, but never mean. Just what is it about her unrequited crush on George that has him so bothered?

( _Duh. He's jealous.)_

Zoe shakes her head, knowing that's probably not it but realizing that she's too hungry to plumb the mysteries of Wade Kinsella anymore. She sighs and goes in search of her shoes, just as there's a knock on her door.

And there stands Wade, with a bottle of wine and a Fancie's bag, as though she's called him up from her thoughts. "Peace offerin'?" he says, through the screen door.

She finds that her earlier fury has ebbed…and anyway, she recognizes the bottle as her favorite Pinot that they only carry over at the liquor store in Daphne. If he's driven all the way there and stopped at Fancie's with one swollen eye, the least she can do is let him in. He gives her the goods and puts his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry, Zoe. What I said was way outta line."

She shrugs. "I must look pretty desperate to you."

"Hell, Doc, if you was really desperate, I reckon you woulda slept with me last night," he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

His tone is so…defeated. It isn't true, and she needs him to know that, so she tries to explain. "That wasn't what last night was about. I just wanted to be a little spontaneous—a little crazy, even. I've been trying since I got here to fit in, and now I'm sticking out like a sore thumb on the front page of the Blawker and managing to get you roundhoused into the bargain."

"Yeah, well, I probably deserved it…if not for last night, for somethin' else."

"Like hogging my electricity and making endless comments about my wardrobe choices?" She smiles wryly at him and can see the relief on his face.

"You sorry you didn't get a chance to land one on me yourself?"

"Don't tempt me." Setting the food on her coffee table, she pulls a corkscrew out of the dresser by the door. She hands the bottle of wine to Wade, who efficiently opens it as she continues, "Thanks for all this. I was just going to grab something from Lavon's fridge, seeing as how food delivery is a foreign concept here."

"Yeah, well…happy to be of service, I guess. I should probably—" he motions to the door, and Zoe finds, to her surprise, that she doesn't want him to leave.

"Wade—wait. Do you want to stay? There's plenty here for both of us."

He hesitates, then finally nods, and she bustles around finding glasses, paper plates, and plastic cutlery for the both of them. They keep to small talk during their meal, but more than once Wade's hand brushes hers when they both go for the same piece of chicken, or when he refills her glass, and the hum of electricity fills the air between them again.

"I'm not much of a wine guy, but this is pretty decent," he says as he drains his glass for the third time.

She smiles at him and tips the last of the bottle into her own. "Maybe if you stocked this at the Rammer Jammer, I'd have more reason to come by."

Wade laughs. "Doc, you're at the Rammer Jammer pretty nearly every day anyway, even if our wine list is shorter than Lemon Breeland's temper." His eyes twinkle into hers, and Zoe feels that pull again, low in her belly, as he says softly, "But I'll see what I can do."

She catches herself leaning into him, and covers it with a (semi) professional touch to his injured cheek. "This is looking a little better—swelling's gone down some—but you're going to be a sight to see tomorrow morning."

Her hand lingers, just for an extra second, and his comes up to catch it. "Don't worry about it…it's nothin' folks around here haven't seen before." He glances at her, quickly, then presses a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist, and Zoe is hit with such a wave of desire that she gasps. She has a sudden vision of Wade kissing his way up to her elbow ( _don't stop_ )…and before her overheated brain can go any further, she pulls away, stands up, and starts pacing.

"Doc?"

"So, um…what are we going to do about…all this?" she asks in an unnaturally high voice, gesturing to his bruised eye. "I mean, I can't let everyone in Bluebell think George Tucker clocked you because you—"

"Acted like Wade Kinsella?"

There it is again. That sense that he has to live down to everyone's expectations of him. "You don't have to be the town Lothario, y'know," Zoe says, frustrated at his acceptance of that role.

He crosses his arms—in confirmation or defiance, she's not sure. "Maybe, but certain standards need to be met, Doc. And who would take my place—Meatball?"

Zoe throws her hands up. "You're impossible. I'm trying to do the right thing, here."

"I thought all you New Yorkers were so cutthroat, out for whatever you could get. You're giving your city a bad name, Zoe Hart."

"Wade! We should just tell everyone nothing happened and be done with it. They'll forget all about it by this weekend."

A beat, while he looks steadily down at her. "How many patients did you say you had today?" He quirks his one working eyebrow.

"God, between you and Addy—" The penny drops. "She called you, didn't she?"

He grins. "Didn't want me to 'give away the game.' I swear that woman has a little Scarlett O'Hara in her."

Zoe can't help but chuckle. "Who knew Bluebell was such a hotbed of intrigue."

"Yeah, lotta skeletons in closets around here."

"I should know—I'm one of them," she comments sardonically.

Very deliberately, Wade lets his eyes travel down her body. "Doc, I can assure you, no one thinks about skeletons when they're lookin' at you." Zoe flushes, but maintains enough equilibrium to roll her eyes at him. "You'll have to do better than that line, cowboy."

"It wasn't one of my best, I agree. Want me to take another shot?"

She slaps his arm. "No—seriously—what are we going to do?"

Another pause, and then he says slowly, "Maybe there's another option—one that keeps you your patients and makes me look—well, not so bad."

Zoe eyes him skeptically.

"What if I were to make some grand public gesture—apologize to you for letting the heat wave run away with us. It'd give the Blawker material for days, and I'd come off like a reformed character."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"You, Dr. Hart, can react however the spirit moves you. You can tell me to go to hell, slap me across the face (on this side, if you don't mind)"—he points to his uninjured cheek—"or you can graciously accept my apology. Either way, you'll have folks cheerin' and I'll get some credit, at least."

Zoe finds herself smiling again. So he is not quite as unaffected by public opinion as he pretends to be. "OK, I'm in." She sticks out her hand for him to shake, and he uses it to pull her a little closer. He leans down, and her eyes close of their own accord, but he doesn't kiss her. Instead, he whispers, "This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Dr. Hart."

Zoe steps back, pushing against his chest and ignoring the disappointment she is Definitely. Not. Feeling. "Nice try, but no."

"No? You sure?" he grins.

"Yes!" she says, exasperated.

"See? I got you to change your mind already. I've got your number, Doc!" he chuckles as he makes his way to the door.

_Yeah, actually he kind of does._

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Thanks again for reading and reviewing!**


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

When Wade enters Lavon's kitchen the next morning, the mayor takes one look at him and accidentally flips a perfectly good pancake over his head. Smack! It hits the glass cabinet behind him and slithers ignominously down to the floor.

"Hope that one wasn't mine," Wade comments.

"Never mind the pancake!" Lavon exclaims. "What in blue blazes happened to your face?"

Wade points at his left cheekbone, which is now bright purple in the middle, fading to a sickly yellow-green at the edges. "What, this? Just another heat wave casualty…souvenir of a little discussion with a 'friend' when we didn't see eye to eye—more like eye to fist."

Lavon stares at him, utterly lost, while the other occupant of the pan starts to smoke. The mayor jumps, flipping the charred cake into the sink and turning the burner off. "Dammit, Wade! Now I've ruined two—and this is my granny's famous buttermilk recipe! You better stop talkin' like your brain was knocked outta your head and tell me what's goin' on."

Wade considers. It might be good to have someone in on the whole story—and maybe he can ask Levon's advice about a suitable "grand gesture." "If I tell you, it's just between us, O.K.? Landlord-tenant confidentiality."

Lavon folds his arms. "That's not a thing, Wade. But fine."

"You seen yesterday's Blawker?"

"Actually, I have not. I was…out…all day yesterday." Wade notices that Lavon's eyes shift down and to the right. He's played enough poker with the man to recognize his tell—Lavon's hiding something. He gets distracted from this line of thought, however, when Lavon demands, "Why? What'd you do?"

Wade stands up, chest out slightly, and shakes his head. " _Me_? Why is it always me, and what  _I_ did?" He walks around the island and yanks open the fridge, pulling out the juice and pouring some into a glass. After taking a long sip, he continues irritably: "As it happens,  _I_ —we—didn't do nothin'."

"We?"

"Me and Zoe—"

Now Lavon grins and nods. "Mmm-hmm…you and the charmin' Dr. Hart. The heat wave…I seem to recall you issuing a challenge to her to get a little crazy. I guess while the cat's away, the mice will play—"

Wade laughs shortly. "Yeah. Not a lot of playing—at least, not the kind you're thinkin' of—"

Lavon's expression suddenly darkens and he points a finger at Wade. "Wait a second—did you try somthin' with Big Z, and she decked you?" He peers a little closer at Wade's face. "Dang, she's got a good right hook—"

"No! What d'you take me for? I'm sick of people in this town always assumin' I'm up to no good. Now, do you want to hear the actual story, or just keep runnin' your mouth?"

The mayor looks taken aback at Wade's tirade and subsides into silence. Wade points at the skillet. "You might as well start cookin' up some more of those pancakes while I'm talkin'."

"Fine." Lavon turns on the burner and slices some butter into the pan. "Talk."

"So, the night of the heat wave, I cut myself on the fence back of the Rammer Jammer, and the doc stitched me up. She took her time about it, and we had a little—moment. I told her to come on by the bar, if she needed anything, and sure enough, she shows up about 9:00 and propositions me." Wade can't help the smile that spreads across his face at the thought of Zoe's awkward advances.

Lavon's eyebrows shoot up, and he barely avoids burning two more cakes, rescuing them just in time. He puts them on a plate and hands it to Wade, pouring some more batter in the pan. "Decided to use her free pass after all, huh?" he smirks. "Looks like everything's comin' up roses for you, Wade Kinsella."

"Right—roses chock-full of thorns. Anyway, she came over after my shift, wearin' this little black thing—" Wade shakes himself out of the memory—"but that's not important. Just as we were about to—connect—it started rainin' and she backed off."

"Damn rain. Has a  _lot_  to answer for," Lavon says bitterly. Wade is surprised by his tone—he didn't realize Lavon had so much invested in his friend's flirtation with Zoe. Lavon plates a few pancakes with more force than is strictly necessary, and Wade fears for the china. They sit at the breakfast bar and Lavon gestures to him to continue.

"I don't know what came over me, but I asked her to stay and watch a movie."

"That why she punched you? Because you were tryin' to do an end-run around her defense? Can't say I blame her." The mayor shakes his head disapprovingly.

"Will you just hear me out?" Wade demands, exasperated. "I told her I wasn't gonna…try anythin', and she came in and we watched the movie and talked and then she fell asleep on my sofa."

Lavon's expression softens—he looks almost wistful. "Hey, that sounds pretty nice. Your night ended up way better'n mine."

It finally occurs to Wade that Lavon has something on his mind other than the drama between his tenants. "Why? What happened to you?"

"Let's just say the rain brought people to their senses at the worst possible time." Lavon seems to feel he's said too much, and waves off Wade's questioning look. "It's nothin', man. Didi thinks I'm a crazy person because I acted—well, crazy—on our date. Hurry up and get to the punchin'."

"I'm tryin'. So the next morning Bill Martin shows up to borrow my chainsaw, and sees Zoe coming out of my place."

Lavon nods in understanding. "That guy's worse than Big Ethel after three glasses of sherry. Bet he didn't waste any time runnin' to Missy with a whole sordid tale."

"Well, one of 'em ran straight to Dash, because it was all over the Blawker not an hour later."

"Oh, boy—and I bet Zoe wasn't any too happy about it. So, she just marched on down to the Jammer and belted you one, huh?"

"Lavon! Zoe's five-foot-nothin' and weighs about a hundred pounds. I'm not sayin' she don't have the disposition of your average UFC fighter, but you really think she'd have the leverage to do this?" he points at his eye.

The mayor considers this, and says stubbornly, "Well, if you'd stood there and took it like a gentleman, maybe."

"For the love of Mike, Zoe didn't punch me! She was actually thankful—I guess the story brought half the town in to see her yesterday, the damn vultures. She was thrilled, on account of needing to get more patients so she can keep Harley's share of the practice."

Now Lavon looks thoroughly confused. "So if she didn't hit you—who did?"

"Sir frickin' Galahad himself."

"George Tucker." Wade nods. "So George punched you because he thought you slept with Zoe…" Lavon muses.

Wade feels the anger rise in him again at the recollection—he can smell the stale, rancid air of the alley behind the Jammer, and feel George's knuckles as they—out of nowhere—connected with his face. "Yeah. He came at me, after my shift, as I was takin' out the trash…which, by the way, Shelley can do from now on. It's hazardous to my health. Anyway, George started talkin' 'bout how Zoe's new here, she doesn't know 'my reputation'…How she couldn't have been in her right mind, what with the heat, and somethin' about Polly Parker, and how only a rascal would take advantage of that, and then he just—"

He glances up, realizing that Lavon is staring into space. "Earth to the mayor-have you heard a word I've said?"

Lavon snaps back to attention. "'Course I have. George socked you because he thought you'd seduced Big Z with impure intentions. That about sum it up?"

"Well, yeah," Wade replies, slightly mollified. "But where the hell does George get off policin' everybody's morals? I mean, how is it any of his business what I do—with anybody?"

"Maybe it's not  _you_  he's worried about."

"Maybe he should remember that he's already taken, and stop stringin' Zoe along."

"You really think he's encouraging her?"

"He definitely ain't discouraging her, solvin' all her shrimp problems, savin' a guy's life together, remindin' her about that great place that serves appletinis in the Lower Village or whatever—"

Lavon looks at him appraisingly. "You have got it bad, my friend."

"I ain't got anything," Wade says mulishly. "I just think it's wrong, flirtin' with her when he's been with Lemon for dog's years."

"Yeah," Lavon says, thoughtful. "Maybe the Golden Couple isn't so shiny after all. Maybe this is a sign that they're not meant to be."

Wade takes umbrage at this. The last thing he needs is George Tucker to be a free man. "Are you crazy? The world would stop spinnin' if those two broke up—Bluebell wouldn't know what to do with itself."

"That's true," Lavon sighs.

"In fact," Wade continues, "I think you should have a little talk with George—y'know, mayor-to-citizen—and remind him what he owes to Bluebell…and to Lemon."

"Wait—what? You want me to—Naw. Naw. Naw. Lavon Hayes does not get mixed up in domestic disputes, even if—" he stops. "Why don't you just tell George that he got the wrong end of the barge pole, and there was no seduction of any kind? I'm sure he'd apologize."

"And let him know that there's nothin' goin' on between Zoe and me, so he can keep giving her his 'aw-shucks, Bluebell-boy-in-the-Big-City' routine? No, thanks."

"But once it gets around that George slugged you, neither of you is gonna come out of it lookin' too good. And Lemon will be madder than a wet hen." Lavon seems to relish this prospect.

"Exactly. And if people think Zoe's tryin' to get between Lemon and George, she'll never get any patients. Bluebell hates a homewrecker. Nobody except George, Zoe, and you know he hit me, and I don't imagine George'll be braggin' about it. No, we're gonna keep that little detail on the DL."

Looking slightly crestfallen, Lavon says only, "I see."

Wade takes the plates over to the sink and starts running water in it. "Zoe and I have a different plan, one that will hopefully help her get the thirty percent she needs and might make me look less of a jackass than usual."

"You and Zoe. Have a plan." Looking skeptical, Lavon hands him the pancake skillet. Wade squirts soap into the sink and turns the water on full-force, and an explosion of bubbles rises to the level of the counter.

"Yeah—"

The door opens and Zoe saunters in. For once, she has a smile for Wade, and he's so elated that he raises a hand in greeting, forgetting the suds, which run down his arm.

"Morning, you two." Leaning on the island, she takes in the scene. "Did I miss breakfast?"

"Granny's pancakes," says Lavon.

"Oh, man, really? I have  _got_  to get up earlier."

Wade and Lavon trade a glance at this unwonted cheerfulness, and Zoe shrugs. "Well, I gotta go—I'll just grab one of those yogurt thingys—"

She comes around the corner of the island just as Wade sees the sad remains of the original pancake smeared on the tile floor. "Hey, Doc, look out!" he points, but it's too late—one of Zoe's tottering heels slips on the cake residue and her legs start to go out from under her. Forgetting that he has a skillet full of soap suds in his hands, Wade tries to catch her, dropping the pan on the edge of the counter and reaching both arms out. They go down, both of them, with the clatter of the skillet tipping and the splash of the suds pouring over them.

Lavon looks at them, sprawled on the floor in a tangle of limbs, soaking wet and soapy, Zoe already complaining shrilly about "dry clean only" shorts, and nods his head.

"You two and a plan. What could go wrong?"

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**A/N: I know this chapter doesn't drive the plot forward too much, but I couldn't resist a little Wade-Lavon conversation.**


	7. Chapter Seven

**A/N: First, thank you all for your patience. I had a serious case of "where is this thing going?!" combined with some real-life stuff…so sorry for the long delay. Second, even though our story is AU after S1ep4, I may be including a few events from the episodes that follow it.**

**Thanks to all who've been reviewing, and I hope this was worth the wait!**

**Chapter Seven**

"Thanks!" Zoe says to Maybelline, returning her empty latte glass to the Butter Stick's front counter. One of the biggest surprises about life in Bluebell is that espresso with actual milk is a heck of a lot better than that soy garbage she drank in New York. (Though she still doesn't want her Chilean sea bass battered and fried— _that_  is a desecration.)

She walks out of the bakery and runs, bodily, into George Tucker. George Tucker, wearing a grey suit, looking perfectly normal, not a hair out of place. Not at all, in other words, like he got into a behind-the-bar scuffle with Wade last night.

This is weird. Why isn't he sporting a shiner, mirror-image of Wade's?

He steps back, exclaiming (nervously, she thinks), "Zoe! Sorry! You OK?"

She looks at the steadying hand he's placed on her arm and notes a slight bruising around the knuckles. And she sees red.

"Hey!" she yells, poking him in the chest; a few passers-by turn to stare. Moderating her voice, she hisses, "I have a bone to pick with you. C'mere." She pulls his arm until he follows her down the street and around the corner, away from the exposure of the town square.

"Zoe…" George starts.

"What the hell were you thinking, punching Wade last night?"

"I know…I owe Wade an apology. And—and you too. I'm sorry. Whatever's going on between you two—" he pauses, as if to let Zoe fill in the blanks, but she remains silent—"It's none of my business."

Zoe nods. "You're damn right." She continues to study him. "I'm just trying to figure out why he didn't punch you back. I mean, he is pretty much the poster boy for 'You shoulda seen the other guy.'"

George seems embarrassed. "Probably because I was a little…the worse for wear. I had been drinkin' with a college buddy at the Rammer Jammer—apparently, his wife reads the Blawker religiously. Anyway, he pointed Wade out, and made some comment about you…so when I saw Wade go out the back—I don't know what came over me," he says, looking at her appealingly. He opens his mouth to say something else, then stops.

"What is it, George?" Zoe asks impatiently, although on the inside, she finds herself softening slightly. His face is open, pleading…he's so clearly regretful…

"It's just—it's just that I think of you as a—"  _don't say sister_ , she thinks, before she can stop herself—"friend, and I don't want you to get hurt."

Of course he doesn't. Because he's George Tucker, and he always has everyone's best interests at heart. Or…is it maybe more than that? ( _Engaged. HE'S ENGAGED.)_

Zoe shakes off the swoony look she can feel creeping across her features. "I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of my own—" she nearly says  _affairs_ , but that seems too charged—"myself," she amends awkwardly.

"I know you can. But if you're going to get involved with Wade, there's something you should—" he breaks off, his eyes wide.

Zoe doesn't need to turn around to know who's coming. Sure enough, she hears Lemon Breeland call from down the block, "George! Sweetie!"

"I need to go," she says, moving away from him, but he puts a hand on her arm again. "Hey, do you mind not mentioning the whole punching thing? I'm on my way to the plantation right now, and I feel like it should be, y'know, just between Wade and me."

Zoe rolls her eyes. "Your secret's safe with me."

Lemon comes up to them and gives George a smacking kiss on the cheek. Hanging on his arm, she turns to Zoe. "Well, Dr. Hart, how lovely to see you. Thank you for entertainin' my fiancé. We don't want to keep you, though. Maybe there'll be a patient willing to see you instead of my daddy—miracles do happen!" Her saccharine smile removes absolutely none of the sting from her words.

"Thanks," replies Zoe, equally insincere. "But, actually, I'm booked solid. I'd better be off!" She can't resist giving George what could definitely be considered a flirty smile as she walks back in the direction of the square.

* * *

"Tansy Truitt, here for a…headache?" Addy hands Zoe a clipboard as she shows a very chirpy blonde into the exam room.

"OK, Miss Truitt—" Zoe starts.

"It's  _Ms._ ," says the blonde.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's  _Ms._  Truitt. I'm married, but I kept my maiden name. I'm a modern woman, y'know!" she declares, as though daring Zoe to disagree.

"I'm sure you are,  _Ms._  Truitt. Now, you're here because of a headache?"

Ms. Truitt nods, and says brightly, "I have a hangnail, too." She sticks out her left hand—no wedding ring, Zoe notices—and, indeed, a sliver of thumbnail is pulling away from the nail bed.

Zoe inspects the nail. "Well, it doesn't look infected. I'd prescribe a good set of clippers." She looks back at her clipboard. "Now, about this headache—"

"Did I hear you're from New York?" asks the blonde. Anyone displaying fewer symptoms of pain would be hard to find, Zoe thinks.

"Yep."

"Wow! I've always wanted to go to New York City. What're you doin' in Bluebell?"

Zoe starts to launch into the 30-second "elevator ride" version of her story, then recollects herself—she's here to examine the patient. "Long story. Can you tell me when the symptoms started?"

Ms. Truitt seems not to have heard her. "So, how do you like it?"

Zoe is about to snap in frustration when she remembers the reason she is here: to work on her bedside manner. She can recall a similar grilling from other townsfolk, and it always pays to compliment Bluebell; plus, she can't afford to offend anyone. "It's been quite an education, so far—never a dull moment!" This, at least, is true. "And the people are extremely…inquisitive." Inquisitive, nosy…potato, potahto.

"Well, folks do like to be neighborly," the blonde smiles. "You datin' anybody?"

Zoe wonders briefly what the over/under is on Ms. Truitt being a Blawker reader. "Um…I'm kind of concentrating on my career?"

Ms. Truitt giggles at Zoe's obvious discomfiture. "Sorry—I guess I seem downright pryin'. But we do like to get to know our doctors around here!" She hops down from the exam table. "Well, wouldja look at that! Headache gone—you really are a great doctor!" She flounces out of Zoe's office, waves to the other three patients in the waiting area, and heads on out of the practice. As she exits, Lemon enters; the two women nod to each other.

"Why Dr. Hart! That's the second time today I've seen you with your mouth open. Watch you don't catch any flies, now." Following Zoe's glance, she comments, "I see you've met our Tansy."

"You know her? I've never seen her before."

"Know her? Why, of course. She lives a ways out of town now, but she went to high school with George and me. She's a bit simple, but she's sweet—too good for Wade, if you ask me," Lemon finishes archly.

"Tansy dated Wade?" She does seem like his type.

Lemon's tinkling laugh is like glass breaking. "Dated Wade?" She looks at Zoe in mock concern. "Oh—I thought surely he would've told you before you—"

She definitely does not want Lemon to finish that sentence. "Told me what?"

"Oh, my," Lemon puts a hand to her lips. "I do so  _hate_  to sow discord, even between—well, I just don't know how to say this, but…they got married. Back in '07, I believe? A whirlwind ceremony on a shrimp boat, if I'm not mistaken."

Zoe suddenly feels a little nauseous, the same way she did when she discussed Wade's "appetite" with Addy. "Wade. Was.  _Married_?"

Putting a hand on Zoe's shoulder, Lemon tilts her head. "Honey, he still is, from what I hear." Having dropped her bomb, she turns to Brick, who has just come out of his office. "Oh, Daddy! Just the man I wanted to see!"

Zoe's brain tries to fit this seemingly impossible set of facts into a coherent whole, while her stomach continues to churn. Addy takes pity on her, pushing Zoe back toward her office and away from the fascinated folks in the waiting room. "I'll tell you all about it," Addy whispers.

But just as they are about to step into Zoe's office, the practice door opens again and Wade's head, barely visible behind a massive bouquet, pokes through. "Special delivery for Dr. Hart!" he calls, and spotting her, goes down on one knee to present the bouquet with a flourish.

Hand on heart, Wade continues, "Zoe, I hope you can forgive me for lettin' the heat wave run away with us. Please accept these flowers as a token of my—" Here, he lets his gaze travel up her legs, all the way up to her eyes, which he does not seem to grasp are flashing angrily—"sincere regard. Can I make it up to you with some dinner?"

Zoe's left hand raises, then falls. "You know what? You're not even worth smacking. I wouldn't eat with you if you had the last plate of sushi-grade ahi on earth. Go ask your  _wife_  if she wants to have dinner."

There is a theatrical gasp, and Zoe belatedly realizes that Dash has come up behind Wade, recorder at the ready. "This TOWN!" she yells, turns on her heel, and strides into her office, slamming the door behind her.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Wade hands the huge bouquet to Addy and starts in the direction of Zoe's office door, but Addy stops him with a hand to his chest.

"I wouldn't do that right now, honey. She's got a Freedom Tower paperweight that won't look good comin' at your head…unless you tryin' to get a matched set, there," she points at his bruised eye.

"It wasn't like I was hidin' bein' married," he tries to explain. "I just didn't really think about it."

"None of us have really thought about it for the past four years. But you gotta remember, Zoe just got here, and she's still tryin' to make her way. Plus, with her history? She's probably got kind of a thing about adultery."

Wade acknowledges Addy's wisdom with a sigh. Running his hand through his hair, he asks her, "What now?"

She walks him back to the front door, out of earshot of the enthralled patients. "Tansy left just a bit ago. If I was you, I'd track her down and figure this whole thing out. And I definitely would not ask Zoe Hart to dinner again until you're a free man." She gives Wade the bouquet back. "Find this a good home. I guarantee if you leave it here, it'll end up in the dumpster."

* * *

It doesn't take him long to find Tansy, who's sitting at the Rammer Jammer bar catching up with Shelley. She's drinking a frozen daiquiri with a little umbrella in it. This is something of a change—Tansy used to be strictly a beer-and-bootleg kinda girl.

He watches her for a minute, remembering four years ago. She had come back to town after a while away, living with an aunt in Pensacola. Back in high school, he and Tansy had fooled around some, but it was never serious, and they were always friendly. She came back just after his brother Jesse took off for good, leaving Wade in sole charge of Crazy Earl.

It was not an easy time, what with the stress of keeping a job and keeping Earl from killing himself (or someone else. What the hell had Jesse been thinking, giving him a car?). Then Tansy breezed back into town, bringing laughter and uncomplicated fun with her. She and Wade started up again; soon, he was spending all the time he could with her. It wasn't love so much as an escape from all the crap that cluttered his life.

They fought sometimes, but never over anything important, and the make-up sex was well worth it. Tansy was like a shot of moonshine—sometimes she burned going down, but then she warmed you all over.

That afternoon, they had taken a joyride down to Point Clear, had a few (a lot of) beers, and hopped a ride across the bay on a shrimp boat. One of the crewmen was a poker buddy of Wade's, and he made a joke about Wade and Tansy "tying the knot" as he threw the shrimp traps overboard. Tansy squealed and insisted they should do it _right now_ —that it was a sign—and Wade was a little too drunk to think it through.

Of course, it was a disaster from the start. Suddenly, they were fighting about real stuff: who would take out the garbage, why they had to live with Earl, whether Tansy should've bought those "darlin'" wedge sandals, or Wade that new fishing rod, when they hadn't paid the electric bill.

They lasted four months and then Tansy packed up her stuff and moved in with a friend on the outskirts of Fillmore. She's given Wade, and Bluebell, a wide berth until now.

For his part, Wade wasn't upset, only relieved, when she left, and since then he's kept his relations with women short, sweet, and totally un-serious. Which is why whatever this thing is with Zoe Hart has him upside-down and sideways.

Tansy laughs at something Shelley says, and Wade is brought back to the present. He walks over to the two women and hands the bouquet to Shelley.

"For me?" she asks, eyebrow raised.

"Yep…from your grateful bartending partner."

"Uh-huh. That's a load of BS right there…what's goin' on? And what the hell happened to your face?" Shelley interrogates him over the colorful blooms.

"Enough with the questions…just put 'em somewhere, wouldja?"

Shelley rolls her eyes at Tansy. "I don't know how you put up with him for four minutes, much less four months…" Then, at Wade's look: "I'm going!"

As Shelley heads to the back room, Tansy repeats her question: "You're not getting rid of _me_ that easily. What the hell _did_ happen to your face?"

"Let's just say the clientele at Tricky Rick's aren't as refined as at the Rammer Jammer," Wade responds laconically, reaching under the bar to grab a beer. "So, Tans, haven't seen you around here in awhile. What's up?"

Tansy looks down, playing with the napkin underneath her daiquiri glass. "Just thought I would see how y'all were gettin' along," she shrugs. "Seems like there's been a lotta changes around here."

Wade takes out a rag and starts mopping the bar, his go-to move in moments of awkwardness. Weeks ago, he had planned to call Tansy about finally signing the divorce papers, but now that she's right in front of him, he finds himself taking a circuitous route to the conversation. "What've you been up to? I heard you were waitressin' at the Pigeon Hole."

"Yeah. It's not my dream job, but it's the best I can do right now." She sounds a little depressed, an emotion he has not typically associated with the always-upbeat Tansy.

"I know the feelin'. I don't want to be tendin' bar forever, either."

"I want to go to beauty school, y'know, for doin' hair and nails? But beauty school's expensive and I lost all my savings when that rat Todd Gainey, Jr. convinced me to invest in his 'startup,' tradin' baseball cards on the Internet."

"That guy always was a douche," Wade comments. "You need me to rough him up for you?"

Tansy grins. "That's OK. I was doin' some data entry for the business on his computer, and I rigged it so it sends an email to his mom every time he goes on a porn site, so…I got my own back."

"That's my girl!" he says, and high-fives her, relieved to see her smile again. "How's the datin' scene over there in Fillmore?" He doesn't mean anything by it, is just trying to keep the conversation going, but a blush creeps up her cheeks.

"It's all right."

"Yeah? Whose heart you breakin' now?" he smirks.

She stops playing with the napkin and looks directly at him, in a way that tells him she didn't come into Bluebell on a whim. "I could ask you the same thing."

Wade scrubs at a nonexistent water stain on the bartop. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"I met your Dr. Hart."

Wade glances up at her, and for a minute is tempted to spill the whole story; maybe she can help him sort some things out. Nah—too many cooks got their spoons in this stew already. "She's not _my_ Dr. Hart."

"That's what she said too—said she was 'focusin' on her career.' But I kinda got the feelin' there was more to it than that."

Focusing on her career, huh? Well, he had been doing his best to help in that regard. Which, as usual, had blown up in his face. He's suddenly tired of making the conversation into a goddamn fencing exhibition, and cuts to the chase: "Tansy, what're you doin'? What's your game, here?"

She's taken aback by his directness. "No game…I just thought it was worth checkin' out my _husband's_ mysterious new neighbor, that's all."

"About that—"

"The neighbor part? I think we have that covered."

"No, the husband part." He takes a deep breath and wades in. "I think it's time we made our divorce official."

Tansy goes quiet, once again spreading the cocktail napkin out beneath her fingers. "Yeah, I know. If you send the papers over—"

Wade doesn't want to hurt her, but they'll never get anywhere if he doesn't speak the truth. "I've tried that, a couple of times already," he says, gently.

"Hey, you know there was that thing with my mom, and then I was in Branson, and—" she starts defensively.

He holds up both hands. "I know, I know. Hey," he says, as if he just thought of it, "why don't we go by George's office right now? No time like the present, right?" She hesitates, and he cajoles her, "C'mon, Tans, it'll be the first day of the rest of your life…and I'll take you out to celebrate after."

At the mention of a celebration, she smiles again—and there's the Tansy he knows, with her almost childish enthusiasm for a "treat." "It'll be the best divorce you ever have!" she jokes. And he can't help laughing.

After this morning, he could do without seeing George Tucker for quite some time, but he has to suck it up and seize the moment if he wants to have a prayer of fixing things with Zoe.

* * *

As he and Tansy walk the two blocks to George's office, Wade keeps up a string of small talk, but inside he's remembering what happened when George showed up at the gatehouse in full Southern gentleman mode.

He was sitting on his porch, strumming his guitar and scripting his "apology" in his head when George walked up the steps and stopped, hands in his pockets. He started talking and the words just tumbled out, one over another…he said he was sorry for getting carried away, that he knew it was none of his business, that he felt protective of Zoe because he was her first friend in Bluebell. "I just don't want to see her get hurt."

Wade almost laughed, except it wasn't really funny. If anyone was likely to get hurt in this scenario, it was definitely him. "Have you _met_ Zoe Hart? Girl has the bedside manner of Attila the Hun. I'm pretty sure she can take care of herself."

As he so often did, George thought he knew better. "No, see, that's where you're wrong. Zoe's tough as any New Yorker on the outside, but if you really listen to her, she's sensitive. And she told me once that she's not good at relationships—"

The thought that George might have developed any kind of closeness with Zoe—that she might have shared more with him than a few comments after a movie on a rainy night—made Wade spiteful. "Sounds like you've spent quite a bit of time getting to know Dr. Hart. Was it just the one day when you snuck her over to the farmer's market, or have you been meetin' her on the sly regularly?"

It was George's turn to get his back up. "It isn't like that!"

"Oh, so Lemon's thrilled about this new _friendship_ of yours, then? That must be cosy."

"Lemon—not that it's any of your business—"

"Seems to be the theme of the day," Wade commented drily.

"—but Lemon…accepts that she can't dictate who I spend my time with!"

"Lemon's a hell of a lot more understandin' than I would be in the circumstances, considerin' the dumb grin you get on your face whenever Dr. Hart walks by."

Wade could see that George was making a concerted effort to calm himself down, breathing through his nose and probably counting to ten before saying slowly, "That's insane. I love Lemon. I am _marrying_ Lemon. And Zoe and I are just friends."

Wade was still not sure he bought what George was selling, but he had probably pushed the other man far enough; after all, if George suddenly looked deep into his soul and discovered that his devotion to Lemon wasn't quite as everlasting as he thought, Wade might not be happy at the result. "All right, man. I hear you. Apology accepted."

He stuck out his hand, and the two men shook. "By the way," Wade remarked, "I sort of put it about that I got this—" he pointed to his eye—"in a random bar fight. I figured it wouldn't do either of us any good to tell the real story."

"I agree," George nodded. He turned to go, but stopped when he was halfway down the stairs. "Hey, I still have your divorce papers in my file cabinet. Whatever happens with you and Zoe, don't you think you should get them signed?"

Won't he be surprised that Wade has taken his advice so quickly?

* * *

On the steps to George's office, Wade and Tansy run into Lemon, who has a wicker picnic basket on her arm. "Hello again, Tansy. How's things out in Fillmore?"

"Oh, you know, busy. We've got the Strawberry Festival comin' up—"

"Bless your heart," Lemon simpers. "Sounds so excitin'!" She looks at them questioningly as they follow her up the steps and into the reception room.

"I'm just bringin' George his lunch. Perhaps whatever you two need—" her tone suggests it couldn't possibly be important—"it could wait until he's done? I just took this soufflé out of the oven and it's a little delicate."

"Tans and I only need a minute of his time—though he'll probably charge us for an hour!" This comment gets a chuckle from Tansy, but Lemon is stone-faced.

"Fine," she says.

The assistant's desk is empty; Didi must be out at lunch. Lemon holds up the basket. "I'll just take this in to him—and let him know you're here."

She steps up to his office door—doesn't feel the need to knock, Wade notes—and opens it…

…to reveal Zoe held close in George's arms, her feet nearly swept off the floor.

They spring apart immediately. "Lemon! Hey, sweetie!" George exclaims, going pale, while Zoe babbles some excuse about George congratulating her on her patient load.

"You bastard," Wade growls at George, though he can hardly hear himself through the rage buzzing in his head. Is this the guy who just THIS MORNING vowed endless love to Lemon? Wade's fist clenches by his side, and he nearly charges Tucker, who is protesting his and Zoe's innocence. Not that anyone is listening.

Wade is cut off by Lemon, who steps around Zoe and slaps George, hard, across the face.

"Lemon! Stop!" Zoe cries. "This isn't—it's not—"

Lemon bangs her picnic basket down (there goes the soufflé) and sticks a finger in Zoe's face. "Not a word—not a _word_ out of you—you faithless _Yankee_!" She turns on her kitten heel and strides furiously out the door, head held high but eyes glistening.

Wade looks at Zoe, whose eyes are also full of unshed tears, and just for a second lets the full force of his hurt show on his face. Zoe recognizes it and flinches back, though he hasn't made a move toward her. "Wade," she pleads, "Let me explain."

"Be reasonable—" George starts.

But he is in no mood to hear either of them. Tansy pulls on his arm, once, then twice. "Let's go," she says.

He lets her lead him out the door, down the steps, and back to the gatehouse, where he wastes very little time getting himself outside of a bottle of whiskey.

For all the good that will do him.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

 


	9. Chapter Nine

**A/N: Clyde May's is a real brand of whiskey…which was illegal until 2001 and is now The Official State Spirit of Alabama™. I thought it was just the kind of thing Wade might have sitting around his kitchen. :)**

**Chapter Nine**

A few hours later, Zoe approaches the gatehouse nervously. She doesn't even really know why she's here—the whole situation with George was wildly misinterpreted (OK, maybe not _wildly_ , she concedes when her inner voice protests). In any case, she owes Wade Kinsella precisely _nothing_ , he of the hidden wife, he who almost made her an unwitting adulterer.

Nonetheless, she climbs the porch steps and knocks lightly on his door, trying to put together some succinct sentences that will allow her to explain the situation and get out quickly. But the words crash into a jumble of nothing when it's Tansy who opens the door.

"Dr. Hart," she says flatly, arms folded.

"Is Wade here? I wanted to tell him something."

"He's here. He's just not in a fit state for visitors." Zoe raises an eyebrow, and she clarifies, "He drank a fifth of Clyde May's and passed out."

Now Zoe's worried. "Are you sure he's all right? He could have alcohol poisoning—want me to check on him?"

"I think you've done enough for the moment," Tansy replies, just as there's a loud moan from within. "Whoever that is, tell 'em to stop shoutin'!"

Tansy rolls her eyes. "This ain't my first rodeo with Wade Kinsella findin' himself at the bottom of a bottle." She steps outside, closing the door behind her. "Do me a favor, OK? Whatever you got goin' on in your lovelife, leave Wade out of it. He's a good guy—he doesn't deserve to be lead on."

Zoe can't let the injustice of this remark go. " _Me_ leading him on? What about _him_? Maybe he should tell people he's married before they—"

"Would it have made a difference? Doesn't seem to have stopped you with George Tucker."

"NOTHING HAPPENED WITH GEORGE TUCKER!"

The screen door creaks and Wade stands there, bleary-eyed and reeking, one hand clutching the side of his head. "What's that line about the lady protesting too much? Better take it up a notch, though, Doc—I don't think they heard you over in Mobile."

The door slaps shut as Wade stumbles back to his bed, and Zoe stomps back to the carriage house. This is what she gets for trying to be a better person, for getting emotionally involved, for making connections with people. She and Wade seemed to be forging a friendship, so she thought she'd explain…but as usual, he's more interested in jumping to conclusions than getting the truth. Fine. Let his _wife_ take care of him.

* * *

She doesn't see Wade for a while. She's not home much; her schedule is still full and it appears that Addy was right about the town giving her a chance. (Also, it's possible that Dash's latest articles, "Kinsella's Aromatic Apology" and "The Prodigal Wife Returns" have something to do with her continued following. Fortunately, "The Law Office Liaison" seems to have passed Dash by.)

Anyway, Wade apparently survived the massive hangover he must've had after his run-in with Alabama's finest moonshine. There are traces of him: a car engine revving, a plate in Lavon's sink, music drifting across the pond—but no interaction between them, until she's walking back from the practice early one evening and hears a voice from above. Not God—it's the man Wade ran over with his boat trailer. He's atop the roof of Sam's Hardware, threatening to jump.

Zoe looks around…there's no one in sight. She yells up to him, "Wait! Don't do anything rash!" and runs to one side of the building, where a rickety-looking ladder hangs down from the roof. She pulls it toward her, and with a doubtful glance at her heels, starts climbing.

A few rungs up, her heel slips. She's suddenly hanging in mid-air...then a pair of strong arms wraps around her waist and lifts her down. "What the hell you doin', Doc?"

"I can't just let him jump, Wade!"

"You won't do him any good, splattered on the ground yourself," he comments in exasperation as he starts climbing. "I got this, you can go on home."

Zoe goes back to the sidewalk in front of the building, where a small crowd has now gathered, and watches in terrified fascination as Wade gets the man to back off the roof…by singing _Moon River_ with him.

Her eyes catch Wade's once; he looks mortified and yet defiant, daring her to find the scene ridiculous, but it's the most selfless act she's seen in her time in Bluebell.

"Hey Dad, it's time to go home. Let's go."

 _Dad_? Zoe remembers Wade talking about his dad the night they spent together: _"I had plenty of mamas, and Crazy Earl and I, between us, disappointed every one of 'em."_

Finally, Earl is back on terra firma, the crowd disperses with several slaps on the back for Wade, and Zoe turns for home. "Doc," she hears him call, and stops.

"That was a nice thought, climbin' up to get Earl. Crazy in those shoes, but nice."

"It's my job—why I'm here. To help." She pauses. "You were kind of heroic up there."

He offers her a grim smile. "Naw. When your daddy's the town drunk, you get used to makin' an idiot of yourself to keep him alive."

"Wade…I'm not trying to pry, but—if he wants to get help, I can make some calls."

"I thank you for your concern, Doc, but dryin' out isn't really Earl's 'thing.'" He runs a hand through his hair, and glances at Earl, who is staring up at the stars, a satisfied grin on his face. "I better go."

Zoe watches him walk away, wheels turning in her mind. The next day, she asks Addy, "What's the story with Earl Kinsella?"

Addy sighs and shakes her head. "That man's been on the wrong side of tipsy for nearly twenty years, since his wife died. Wade and his brother pretty much raised themselves. Then Jesse left, and Wade's done his best to keep Earl together, but every time Earl gets his government check, he marinates himself in whatever rotgut is cheapest at the Liquor Barn and gets up on that roof, the damn fool."

"And Wade sings him down, every time?"

"Yep."

Wow. There are clearly a lot more layers to Wade Kinsella than she'd thought. Her heart hurts, thinking about him as a boy, as a teenager, so alone and lost. And as a man, with much heavier responsibilities than she'd realized.

"Addy, what happened between Wade and Tansy?"

"It was a couple of years ago…far as anybody knew, they were just havin' some fun. Then they took off for the coast one day and came back married! They lived with Earl for a few months, but you can imagine how that went. Tansy left and we heard no more about it til she was here the other day."

This puts a slightly different wrinkle on things. If Wade and Tansy haven't been together in years, it makes sense that Wade wouldn't have mentioned her. Probably all of his other conquests knew about her anyway, if they were local.

"I wonder why they didn't get divorced," Zoe muses.

Addy shrugs. "Any number of reasons…could be they didn't have money for a lawyer, could be they didn't think it was important…"

 _Could be one or the other of them wasn't ready to let go_ , Zoe thinks, remembering Tansy's face when she showed up at the door. And there's that sick feeling in her stomach again—seems to happen a lot in connection with Wade Kinsella.

* * *

After work, she walks into Lavon's kitchen, hoping against hope that she still has half a bottle of Pinot left, and maybe there's some of that jambalaya he made last night, too. The room is dark, and she nearly jumps out of her skin when she flips on the light and sees Lavon himself at the breakfast bar, nursing a beer.

"Lavon? What's going on?"

He sets the beer down, deliberately, and it occurs to Zoe that this is not his first one.

"Lemon and George broke up."

Zoe puts a hand to her mouth. "Oh my God—because of me?"

Lavon's head comes up sharply. "Why? What'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything! I went over to George's two weeks ago to give him the monthly totals on my patient load. I made my thirty percent, and I was going to ask him to draw up the new partnership agreement so Brick and I could sign it. He was really happy for me and—" she can feel herself blushing at the memory—"he gave me a huge hug. Then the door opened, and Lemon, Wade, and Tansy were standing there. They all just assumed—and they wouldn't let us explain—"

"Can't really blame 'em, can you? Must've looked pretty bad."

"I know," Zoe says miserably.

"Guess that's why we haven't seen much of Wade around here lately," Lavon comments.

"I went by his place afterward—Tansy was there. I told them nothing happened; they obviously didn't believe me. But I figured George would be able to smooth it over with Lemon—"

"He must have," Lavon says, shortly.

Zoe looks up, wondering at his tone. "So what happened?"

"They didn't break up 'cause of you—least, you weren't the main reason. They broke up because of me."

Now Zoe is thoroughly confused. "You? What'd you do—deny them some kind of special 'royal couple for a day' license?"

Lavon hesitates before replying. "I don't like admittin' this, and I'm hopin' for Lemon's sake that you can keep it to yourself, but…she and I had an affair."

"You WHAT?" Just as when she found out Wade was married, Zoe finds herself trying to fit seemingly mismatched pieces of a puzzle together. Lavon? Lavon who always does the right thing, who is an unfailingly loyal friend, who seems to be perfectly willing to sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of town unity?

Which, based on the devastated look on his face, is exactly what he's _been_ doing.

"When was this?"

"'Bout six months or so ago. George was in New York, and Lemon was goin' through some stuff—she really needed somebody. I just happened to be there."

"Oh, Lavon…"

"I'm not proud of it, Zoe. I don't have any excuse except…I loved her."

She reaches out and touches his arm, asking softly, "What about now?"

He runs a hand over his face, and takes a long sip of beer. "Turns out stoppin' lovin' someone is a whole lot harder than startin'."

"Does everybody know?" Zoe winces, thinking about the likely reaction of most Bluebellians; they might love their mayor, but the Breelands and the Tuckers practically founded this town.

"Nobody knows. Like I said, I hope it stays that way—Lemon doesn't need any more guilt and shame than she's already carryin'."

"Neither do you," Zoe points out. "You know I won't say anything."

Lavon peels the paper label off the beer bottle. "I hate secrets and I hate lyin'. If it were up to me, I'd make a full confession in the town square and take whatever's comin' to me. But I guess Lemon and George are just puttin' it out that they 'grew apart.'"

Zoe finds her bottle of wine—not quite half-full, but enough—and pours herself a generous glass. It's been a hell of a week. "How did it all go down—do you know?"

"George was helpin' her pack up some things since she was movin' out for the wedding in a few months—and he found a picture. The only one we ever took together. Lemon 'fessed up, and that's all I know."

"Wow. Bluebell without George and Lemon. It's hard to take in." Lavon looks even more depressed, and she realizes she's been insensitive. "Sorry, I just meant—"

"Hey, I'd better get used to that reaction—I'm sure that's what most of the town is gonna say." He goes to the fridge and grabs another beer.

"Lavon? Maybe you can process all this better if you're not floating in the Stella Artois, you know what I mean?" She guides him back to his seat. "I'll make you a sandwich."

He watches her intently as she piles turkey, cheese, lettuce, and tomato on wheat bread. "So, are you and Lemon gonna—" she starts.

"No."

"Aha. That explains the dark-drinking."

"Lemon called me cryin' and told me what happened—I haven't heard from her since. But one thing I'm sure of: you can't build your happiness on someone else's pain."

Zoe hands him the sandwich, wishing she could hand him some hope along with it. He nods in thanks and looks at her carefully. "You're gonna have a decision to make now too, Big Z."

Until he says this, Zoe has been far too consumed with worry for her best friend to take in what the Brucker (thanks, Dash) breakup means for her.

"I'd check your phone, if I's you," Lavon mumbles through bites of sandwich, and sure enough, when she pulls it out of her bag, the screen reads:

 **George Tucker** 4:45pm  
 _Can we talk?_

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Thanks, as always, for reading. Would love to know what you think!**


	10. Chapter Ten

**We started with two chapters from Wade's POV…now we get two chapters from Zoe's (although this is not the end—this story refused to resolve itself quite that neatly). Would love to hear what you think!**

**Chapter Ten**

She arranges to meet George down in Mobile. It's a strange evening: the air feels electric, the sky is a steely grey, and the sun is fiery on the horizon. Standing on the strand that leads around Mobile Bay, George is haloed in the sunset light; never has he deserved his "Golden Boy" nickname more.

When he sees her, he grins, looking about twelve in his obvious excitement, and Zoe finds herself grinning right back. "Hey," he says when she gets to him, giving her a slightly awkward hug. "Thanks for meeting me."

They start walking down the path along the water, and it hits Zoe that things are different now. She could, she thinks, reach out and hold his hand, or even stop and kiss him, if she wanted.

Does she want to?

"Uh…I don't know if you've heard, but Lemon and I called it off," George is saying. Zoe doesn't want to reveal the conversation she had with Lavon—she doesn't want to have to take sides between the two men—so she just nods, noncommittally. Looking down, she asks, "How are you feeling?"

He half-smiles. "I don't really know. Maybe it hasn't hit me yet? I mean, fifteen years of my life, you'd think I'd…"

"…be eating ice cream out of the carton and watching _Sleepless in Seattle_? That's what I'd do," she suggests, keeping the conversation light. George chuckles.

"Is that what you did when you and—"

"Nate," she supplies.

"—Nate broke up?"

"No. That's what I did when I lost the fellowship. When Nate dumped me, I threw all his stuff into a box and gave it to Marvin, the homeless guy who slept on my stoop. And that was that." They walk on a few steps and she continues, "I guess that makes me sound cold."

George stops. "You, Zoe? You're not cold. It just—he wasn't the right guy for you, and some part of you must've known that. Maybe that's why I don't feel more…grieved, I guess." He brushes back a lock of her hair, and her heart starts pounding. She swallows.

"So…you don't think Lemon was the right person for you?"

He touches her cheek, and Zoe thinks, _this is it_. But it isn't; George turns and leans on the walkway railing, and she feels…what? She's not sure, but she lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

She thinks of what Lavon said earlier: "You can't build your happiness on someone else's pain." It's probably true, and certainly a noble sentiment, but does it really apply here? She has no idea how Lemon feels, whether she's devastated, or angry, or relieved, and whether she still loves Lavon…and there's Lavon renouncing a second chance with her, and meanwhile, George is showing every sign of being ready to move on. The whole situation seems so complicated, and Zoe feels a nostalgic pang for New York, where you could go out with someone in an anonymous vacuum.

They both stare down into the water, where the last of the sun's rays join with the lights just starting to come on around the bay to create a sparkling tapestry. George remarks, "Remember when I told you that Lemon, and Bluebell, were who I am? That was true for a long time, but then something changed."

In the pause he takes, Zoe can feel him waiting for her to ask what's changed. She thinks she knows the answer, though, and all at once she's not sure she wants to hear it.

"Zoe—" he puts his hand over hers—"I know it's too soon, and I've just gotten out of a fifteen-year relationship and I should probably take some time, but…there's something about you. When I'm with you, I feel like I could do anything, go anywhere, be anyone…"

And then he's leaning toward her, and everything she thought she wanted is suddenly within her grasp and she—

"George—wait—"

He straightens up, a little breathless. "Sorry…I guess I got carried away. But I thought—I mean, it seemed like you really—"

"I know—I'm sorry, too. It's just…I'm a little—confused?"

And that's the feeling she's been trying to identify during this whole conversation. What happens when you're offered your dreams on a silver platter, and you find yourself…too scared, maybe?...to reach out and take them?

 _Too scared? Uh-uh. Nope_.

George smiles, squeezing her hand. "Yeah, OK. Let me try to clarify: I really like you, Zoe Hart. And I have for awhile."

Zoe returns his smile, a little tentatively. "Yep, that part came through loud and clear."

"Then what's confusing?"

Taking a deep breath, she looks up at him, willing him to understand. "I'm not sure how _I_ feel."

He drops her hand and steps back. "Oh…um…wow. I feel like a first-class fool." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocks back on his heels.

"Oh, George—no! It's not you. I mean, I was sending some signals—"

"Yeah, you kinda were."

Zoe leans over the railing, shaking her head. "God, I'm a mess—"

"No…hey, look, if you need some time, take it. I'm not going anywhere, and it's not like there's anybody else—"

_Except there is._

He breaks off, seeing the flush that rises in Zoe's cheeks. "Damn. I really am a fool. With everything that's been happening, I forgot you and Kinsella had a…thing…"

"It wasn't really a 'thing'—"

"One-night stand, fling, whatever. The point is—"

George's offhand dismissal is irritating. "We didn't, actually."

"Didn't what?"

"Take advantage of our 'free pass.'" He appears flummoxed, and she is driven to spell it out: "We didn't sleep together, OK?"

"But you spent the night at his place. At Wade's. And you didn't—" Clearly, on this topic George is at one with most of Bluebell, in believing that no woman could spend more than two hours at Wade's without having sex with him.

"Yes." She remembers, now, the utter contentment she felt waking up on Wade's couch, with the sun streaming through and the smell of coffee in the air…

"Wait a minute. You mean, I punched Wade for seducing you…only he didn't…but he just stood there and took it anyway? And neither of you ever said anything?" George is clearly at sea, and Zoe regrets explaining the situation—she should've just let him live with his assumptions.

"It was already in the Blawker…it seemed easier just to leave it and move on. It made sense at the time," she says tiredly.

"It doesn't matter." George grins. "This is great!"

Now it's Zoe's turn to look befuddled. "It is?"

"Yeah! You weren't with Wade—so that's no obstacle." He stops, frowning. "Unless…unless you have feelings for the guy."

Zoe feels like she's one plot twist away from a total breakdown. She has not anticipated any of this: the Brucker breakup, Lavon and Lemon's affair, George's declaration…If she _could_ have foreseen it, however, she would've thought she'd throw herself in George's arms with no reservations. Instead she's hesitating, not in some high-minded spirit of sacrifice but…because of _Wade_?

George reads her silence pretty accurately. "Y'know, after the gumbo contest, I figured he liked you, but I didn't think you'd—"

"After the gumbo contest?"

"Yeah. I mean, he let you enter his Uncle Moe's gumbo—he wouldn't do that for just anybody…"

Zoe is speechless again, her mind working furiously to absorb this revelation; this time, however, George misinterprets her bemusement as panic at getting caught cheating in the contest. "It's no big deal. I'm sure no one else knows—I would never have guessed, except that Wade and I were pretty close as kids and I've had Uncle Moe's gumbo more than a few times—"

Wade. Made. Her. Gumbo. She had automatically assumed that Lavon, her best friend in Bluebell, had come through for her. She never even considered that it might have been Wade staying up all night, chopping, sautéing, stirring…and then somehow sneaking it into the competition with her name on it.

And he hadn't done it to get something from her, to try and win her over for purposes of his own. He hadn't taken any credit at all. He was just there for her, the same way he was when she needed to find a snake, or build a float, or get more patients.

Zoe turns to George and says again, "I'm sorry. I really am."

But George is still pleading his case. "Zoe, hold on. I love Bluebell, but I'd be willing to consider leaving it when your time here is up. As for Wade…he's a good guy—like I said, we've been friends a long time—but he doesn't really do relationships. And you have years of education, you've travelled, lived in the best city in the world…you really think you can be happy with a bartender who's never been north of Tuscaloosa?"

She shouldn't be angry at this line of reasoning; after all, it's exactly what she had been thinking herself. Nevertheless, there's an edge to her voice when she declares, "I don't know if Wade and I can be happy together. I don't even know if he's still interested. Maybe it's crazy, but I think I want to try."

George looks as though he's going to say something more, then thinks better of it when he sees the tilt of Zoe's chin. "I sure hope he justifies your faith in him," he sighs.

"Yeah. Me, too."

* * *

All the way back from Mobile, Zoe rehearses what she's going to say to Wade. Should she explain there's nothing between her and George? Talk about how he's been a good friend to her? Tell him that his smirk gives her butterflies, every time? Or maybe the direct method is best: just throw her arms around him and kiss him senseless.

She drives straight to the Rammer Jammer, seeing as it's only 9:30 and he's probably working. As she gets out of her car, she looks up, where thunderous clouds are piling on top of each other.

She hopes that's not an omen.

The Rammer Jammer is packed—not really a surprise, since it's Tequila Tuesday. Zoe threads her way through the crowd, greeting Frank from the Dixie Stop, Addy and Bill, and Lavon on her way to the bar.

Wade is in his element: pouring shots and shaking cocktails, giving high fives and winking at the ladies. For a minute, Zoe just stands there, taking him in, smiling at the rightness of it all.

He sets a drink down—a daiquiri, from the looks of it—in front of someone. Zoe can't see who it is, because a guy in a trucker cap is blocking her view, but she watches Wade lean over the bar, as though he's whispering to this mystery patron—or, God forbid, kissing her—

Then trucker hat guy moves and Zoe has a full view of Wade, straightening up from the whispering (or the kissing), and Tansy, who is laughing up at him, looking for all the world like a woman in love with her husband.

Zoe's heart plummets somewhere down around her knees. Her stomach roils, and she finally realizes why: thinking of Wade Kinsella with any other woman makes her literally _sick_ with jealousy, and she thinks she might lose it, right there on the bar floor.

Of course, it's at that moment that Wade and Tansy look up and see her in the crowd. Wade's expression is closed, unreadable; she is, apparently, nothing and no one to him.

Zoe turns and starts elbowing her way to the door. She hears Addy call after her, "You OK, honey?" and manages a stiff little smile before she bursts outside.

Warm air hits her in the face, and she forces the rising wall of nausea down with a deep breath, only to let it out in a sob. How could she have been so stupid as not to realize what she felt for Wade, long before this? She was so obsessed with the unattainable that she never recognized what was right in front of her face (or in this case, right across the pond).

She hears footsteps behind her, and Lavon says, "You look like you seen a witch in church. What's goin' on, Z?"

Zoe turns and buries her face in Lavon's shirt. "I am such an idiot!" she sobs.

"Hey, now—Lavon Hayes' best friend is not an idiot. Did you talk to George?"

She sniffs and tries to get the tremble in her voice under control. "Yeah. He wanted to…give things a try."

Lavon nods. "I thought so. Why the waterworks, then? Everybody knows you've had a big ol' crush on him since you got here."

"I turned him down."

Lavon raises his eyebrows.

"I thought—I thought he and I were a perfect match, y'know? I mean, except for the whole engaged thing…he's a lawyer, I'm a doctor. We both love New York, and Woody Allen, and he's sweet and considerate…" Zoe swipes at her tearstained cheeks. "But when I had the chance, I just…couldn't see it."

"And what _could_ you see, Z? Or should I say— _who_?"

The tears prick Zoe's eyes again and she breathes through her nose to fight them off. "Wade. I saw my smart-ass, super-annoying, pickup-line-ready neighbor."

"Wade's a lot more than that, and you know it," Lavon chides her.

"I do know it." She looks up at him, and one tear escapes. "He made my gumbo."

"He tell you that?"

She hits him on the arm. "No, of course not—but why didn't _you_ tell me?"

"Wasn't my place to tell," he asserts. "So, Zoe Hart, what's stoppin' you from runnin' in there and throwin' yourself at him?"

"In the first place, he's hardly talking to me since that whole scene in George's office."

"He might not wanna talk, but I bet he'd be willing to listen, if you cared to explain."

Zoe thinks of Wade, bent close to Tansy's ear, and feels sick all over again. "I don't think so. It looked to me like he's made another choice."

"That's not true," comes a voice out of the darkness.

Zoe is too shocked to respond, but Lavon turns to Tansy. "Evenin', Ms. Truitt…I'll just let you ladies chat." He gives them both a smile and walks back into the Rammer Jammer.

An awkward pause ensues, while Zoe tries to get her increasingly volatile emotions under control. Tansy finally breaks it: "Wade and I have a lot of history, but that's all it is."

"Are you sure?" Zoe asks uneasily. "It looked like you were celebrating."

In answer, Tansy pulls an envelope out of her purse and hands it to Zoe. "Here."

"What's this?"

"That's what we were toasting—our divorce." She smiles, a little tightly. "We were never meant to be, but he's the best ex-husband a girl could have."

Zoe hands back the envelope. "So, you'd be OK with it if I…"

"It's not up to me," Tansy sighs. "But I still care about the goon, and if you hurt him, I will personally kick your butt all the way to Daphne."

Zoe doesn't doubt it. "Thanks."

Tansy nods and walks over to her car. She drives off with a little wave, and Zoe is left to contemplate her next move.

A few minutes later, she goes back inside, ducking into the ladies' room to repair her mascara-streaked face. She can't face Wade, not yet, so she stops to chat with Bill, Addy, and Lavon, who are sitting at a table in the back. Shelley comes by and she orders a glass of wine, which she slugs down more quickly than it deserves (actually, given that it's the Jammer's "house" selection, exactly as quickly as it deserves). Meanwhile, Bill finishes relating the harrowing tale of his latest case: citing Jed Darby for public disturbance when his chickens squawked all night.

Lavon, who's been giving her sidelong glances the last several minutes, finally says, "Enough stallin', girl. Go on over there and see how the land lies."

Zoe hisses, "Lavon!" But Addy picks up the argument. "Go on, honey. You've wasted enough time listenin' to the Bluebell Crime Blotter."

"Hey!" Bill protests.

Addy kisses his cheek. "Aw, darlin', you know I find your work fascinatin', but Zoe's got some business to take care of."

"Business?" Bill asks, confused. "What kinda business has she got at almost ten o'clock at night?"

His wife rolls her eyes and says to an embarrassed Zoe, "We'll be right here if you need us."

So it's with cheeks on fire that she approaches the bar. It takes some time. Ten o'clock is last call for the tequila specials, and the citizenry of Bluebell will not be cheated of their discount mescal. Eventually, Zoe reaches the counter and slips onto a stool vacated by a tall brunette who heads to the dance floor. Wade is at the other end of the bar, and she concentrates fiercely on the paper coaster in front of her, trying to gather her thoughts.

"What can I get you?" he asks abruptly.

She looks up, startled. "I—um—"

_Get it together, Zoe._

Apparently, he's not interested in waiting for her to find her tongue; he takes out a glass, pours a white wine, and slides it across the counter to her. "On the house," he says.

And then he's gone, back down to the end of the bar, where two guys who look barely legal are waving $20 bills at him ("C'mon, man, it's like, 10:04. Do us a solid.").

_This is not going well._

Zoe sits there, sipping wine she doesn't want, racking her brain for the right thing to say to take his attitude from freezing to at least tepid. She watches him, and where he had been loose and relaxed earlier, now there's a line of tension in his shoulders and a tightness in his jaw. She knows, somehow, that it's her presence that's making him close up, and she can't bear it. So she pulls the napkin from beneath her glass and writes,

_Can we talk? My place, 11:30. Z._

And then, at the bottom… _Please_.

She heads for the door, but just before she steps outside she turns back to see Wade reading the napkin…and then crumpling it up and throwing it in the garbage.

It seems entirely appropriate that the low rumble of thunder follows her to her car, considering the perfect storm of tears that breaks as soon as she's behind the wheel.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

_Can we talk? My place, 11:30. Z_

_Please._

Wade wrestles with himself all the way home.

At first, he'd fully intended to ignore her request. He'd already heard the news about George and Lemon—he doesn't even know how, it just seemed to pass through the air like a virus—and Dash wasted no time speculating what this could mean for "Zorge" ( _Jesus.)_. Earlier today, when Tansy picked up the divorce papers, George told her that he was headed down to Mobile for a meeting…and a few hours later, Wade saw Zoe drive off in the Navigator. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together.

When Zoe showed up in the Jammer tonight, it was all he could do not to "congratulate" her on breaking up the couple of the century. So if she's asked him over just to tell him that she and George have made it official, she can go straight to—

But.

That "please" at the bottom of her note has been nagging at him. That "please"…and the look on her face when she saw him in the bar…seem to hint at other possibilities…

Is it worth finding out?

Wade wishes he could put a finger on exactly what it is about Zoe Hart that makes him feel like tomorrow could be different from today, like the rest of his life doesn't have to be spent mixing drinks on someone else's schedule and trying to keep his father out of trouble. Maybe it's that she calls him on his BS, doesn't accept that this is just the way he is, but challenges him. _"You don't have to be the town Lothario,"_ she'd said, and he was realizing that it was true. He didn't have to be the town screwup, either.

Maybe watching her open herself up to the possibilities in Bluebell has made him open up a little—seeing her become part of this place, to risk caring about people, to lay down some tentative roots, he thinks he could take some risks, too.

Maybe ( _definitely_ ) it's the way she feels in his arms—like a live electric wire—and the prospect of having that current turned on him is too much to resist.

In any case, he's here now. He'll just knock quietly, and if she doesn't answer, head on home…and plan to spend tomorrow at his favorite fishing hole with a case of beer and his new set of lures and forget there ever was such a person as Zoe Hart.

He knocks once. No answer.

_Maybe that was too quiet._

Again, a little louder. Still nothing.

_Why the hell would she leave that note if she wasn't gonna answer the door?_

A third time, rapping smartly on her doorframe, as the sky lights up and, seconds later, growls fiercely.

 _You're a damn fool_.

He turns around and trudges down the carriage house steps, just as the door creaks open behind him.

"You came," she says softly, walking to the top step. Her hair is tumbled around her face, and there's a black streak down one cheek that is probably mascara—she's either been crying or cleaning her chimney. The silk blouse and short skirt she had on at the bar are rumpled and askew.

In short, she's a mess…and he clutches the porch railing with all his strength to avoid sweeping her up in his arms and taking her to bed.

"You left me a note." He keeps his voice cool, even irritated, as though she's put him out by asking him to come by. "That was you, right? Hate to think there's another 'Z' out there, waitin' on me."

"But—but I saw you throw it away. I thought—" She breaks off, puts a hand to her lips, and the gesture almost undoes him, but he holds strong.

"Was I supposed to save it for my scrapbook?" he asks, sarcastically. The lightning reaches down through the trees behind them, and is almost immediately followed by a clap of thunder, although still no rain. He decides to cut to the chase: "What can I do for you, Doc? It's gettin' ominous out here."

She glances nervously at the sky and then back at him. "I wanted you to know that George and I—" She pauses, runs a hand through her disheveled hair. "I mean—"

 _Goddamnit._ His jaw clenches. He can get back to his place before he punches something, he's pretty sure, but he'd better go now—

"I'm trying to say, I'm not with George. I never was."

_What?_

"I thought…maybe you'd want to know," she finishes uncertainly, and he realizes that his expression is still as wrathful as the stormy sky.

Slowly, he comes up a step, so they're at eye level. "You sure?"

She nods, just as the first fat wet drops come down on them. Reaching out, she curls one finger around two of his, and a gradual smile spreads across his face. They both look up, and through the increasing downpour she says, "Doesn't mean you can't come inside."

"I'm not a one-night-stand kind of guy," he warns, lacing their hands together.

Her laughter peals like a bell—God, was there ever a sound more glorious? "Yes you are!"

"Not anymore."

That's it, that's as much as he can put on the line right now. The rest is up to her.

In answer, she leans in close to him. "Guess I'll have to take that chance." Then his hands are in her hair and her arms are around his neck and they're getting soaked but it doesn't matter and his heart hurts, he's so happy.

They find their way inside, somehow, kissing and stumbling and finally he half-carries her back to the bedroom. It's hardly the most elegant seduction, but every nerve in his body is on fire and he barely remembers his name.

He fumbles with the buttons on her blouse, which is like a second skin by now, but he finally peels it off her and slides down her skirt. _Lord above, but she's beautiful_ … He stops for a second, wanting to remember her honey skin and the lace on her bra and her lips already swollen from kissing him. "Damn, Doc, you are—"

Before he can finish the thought, the sky outside flashes and there's a sizzle and a tremendous BANG! Zoe's bedside lamp goes out, and they are in total darkness.

"The fuse box," they both say…and Wade can't see her, but he's pretty sure they're wearing matching grins.

He leans down and they bump foreheads. "Wait a second." She feels her way over to the fireplace and, striking a match, lights the candles there. The golden glow shimmers and sparks highlights off her hair, and Wade comes up behind her, sweeping the rippling chestnut aside as his mouth finds her neck. "Zoe…I _have_ been waiting…ever since you stomped into my house in your nightie and boots—not a day's gone by I didn't want you, even when you were drivin' me nuts."

Her breath hitches as his lips brush just below her ear, and she turns in his arms, running her hands down his shoulders and going up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his jaw. "Me, too," she breathes.

"But if you're not ready—if you want to stop—" he offers, envisioning the coldest of cold showers.

"Are you kidding?" She trails her fingers down his chest to the button on his jeans. "Wade Kinsella, if you don't take me to bed right now, I'll never speak to you again."

The sense of relief that flows through him, of knowing absolutely that she wants him, cracks his grin wide open. "I aim to please, Doc." He scoops her up and over to the bed.

And as the storm rages on outside, he makes very sure he does.

* * *

Wade wakes the next morning so thoroughly relaxed that it's a wonder he's still breathing. Zoe is asleep, curled on her side with a hand under her cheek, just as she'd slept on his couch what seems like a lifetime ago. He brushes a thumb across her other hand, and her eyes open.

She smiles drowsily, and his heart lurches. "Were you watching me sleep? That is _so_ cheesy."

Caught out, he says sardonically, "I was tryin' to figure out what to do with all the logs you were sawin'."

Raising herself on one elbow, she pushes at his chest. "I do _not_ snore!"

Wade shrugs. "Whatever you say, darlin', but the mice were runnin' for their lives."

"No one's ever complained before," she declares loftily.

"With respect, Doc, you've been sleepin' alone for awhile…how would you know?"

"All right, that's it—" Wade finds himself flipped on his back, Zoe pinning his wrists down by his head. "I—do—not—snore!"

"Damn, girl, you certainly do know how to wake a man up in the morning."

"Admit it! I don't snore!"

The spectacle of this tiny woman leaning over him, with fire in her eyes but not a stitch on, is at once hilarious and intoxicating. He shifts his body to increase the contact between them; in answer, she raises her hips up so he can look but not touch.

"Nice try, Cowboy. Now, what have you got to say for yourself?" she challenges.

"You sleep like an angel," he laughs.

"That's better." Very slowly, she leans down and nips at his bottom lip, then runs her tongue along his neck, up to his ear. She's still holding his wrists, and though he could easily break her grip, he doesn't, relishing this take-charge Zoe. Last night she had been, not shy, exactly, but a little tentative, which had its own charm. Now she's bold and confident, and he finds he loves that too.

Her teeth graze his earlobe and she whispers, "What else?"

There are so many answers to that question…so many things he finds himself wanting, but not ready, to tell her. Instead he simply says, "I could get used to this."

The look in her eyes says she knows he's hedging, but she lets it go. "If you're lucky," she smirks, and releases her hold. Immediately, he slides one hand into her hair and pulls her down for a long, deep kiss.

Then, grinning wickedly, he folds his arms behind his head, giving her back the lead. "Don't let me stop you now, Doc…you were on a roll."

* * *

Later, they are lying side by side, both breathless, when Zoe checks her phone for the time. "Nine o'clock already? I've gotta go—I have a patient at ten—" She sits up, and he pulls her back down into the tangled blankets.

"Call Addy—tell her to move 'em to…oh, say, next week."

She giggles. "She already rescheduled him from eight this morning. Something must've told her I might be up late…so consider yourself fortunate, Mister."

"Oh, I do." He cups her cheek in one hand and kisses her softly. They lie like that for a moment, just looking at each other, and once again Wade finds himself moved to confess just how much he wants this, with her…but once again, he backs off: "Now, you run along and do your primpin' and I'll go rustle you up somethin' to eat. Meet me in the kitchen in twenty."

"Such service," Zoe teases, making her way to the bathroom.

"Don't get used to it, sweetheart. Not like I'm gonna do this every day."

 _Probably_.

* * *

He's scrambling some eggs when Lavon walks in. The mayor pours himself a cup of coffee and leans back against the counter appraisingly.

"You're lookin' about ten years younger than when I saw you last."

Wade stirs the eggs and shrugs. "Oh, you know—clean livin', that's the answer…early to bed, early to rise—"

"Uh-huh. Your little mouse pal give you that hickey, Ben Franklin?"

Wade slaps a hand over his neck and Lavon guffaws. "So…you and the good doctor…"

Uncertain whether Zoe wants anyone—even her best friend—to know about them, Wade hesitates. Lavon misinterprets his silence, and puts his mug down menacingly. "Zoe was all kinds of upset last night, thinkin' you and Tansy were headed for a reprise. If you was dumb enough to go home with someone else—"

"No—jeez!"

"So you're together?" Wade decides that telling Lavon is preferable to getting hogtied by him, and nods. "'Bout time." The mayor leans back and folds his arms.

"Yeah, well…we haven't really…maybe just keep it to yourself, OK?" Wade pulls the pan off the burner and puts a lid on it to keep it warm.

"Lavon Hayes can keep a secret." He takes a swig of coffee. "For all the good it's done me," he mutters, and it occurs to Wade that Lavon is not looking exactly chipper. A series of dots start to connect in his head, and the contrast between his own happiness and Lavon's doldrums drives him to say something.

"What's up, Mr. Mayor?"

"Nothin'—I'm fine. You enjoy your breakfast, now." Lavon turns to leave.

"Hey…I'm sorry for whatever's goin' on…or not goin' on…with you and Lemon."

That stops Lavon in his tracks, and he turns around slowly. "What do you mean?"

"I saw you two, last spring. She was comin' out of that door—" Wade points to the kitchen entrance—"in a hurry, and you pulled her back."

"So you've known, this whole time?"

"I probably shoulda told you, but it wasn't any of my business and I just stayed out of it."

"You're a good friend, Wade."

Wade puts two slices of bread in the toaster. "She's free now, Lavon. You could—"

"I already told Zoe—"

"Zoe knows?"

"Yeah. Somethin' about that girl, makes you want to tell her things."

"Don't I know it," Wade grins ruefully.

"Anyway, I told her I can't be the one to profit off George Tucker's heartache."

"No disrespect to Lemon, but based on how fast he went after Zoe, I'm not sure George was feelin' much pain. Although he's not gonna be thrilled about me bein' with Zoe…but look, Lavon, life is messy. It would be nice if we could get through it without hurting each other, but that ain't always possible." He looks at Lavon across the counter. "It's not selfish to want to be happy."

Lavon takes that in, and nods. "Maybe you're right—but that has to be Lemon's decision."

The door opens and Zoe walks in. "Lavon!" she says, her voice full of sympathy. "How are you?" She crosses the room to give him a huge squeeze.

"Still breathin'…barely," he inhales as she releases him.

"You want some eggs, Lavon?" Wade asks.

"Naw, I gotta go. Y'all have a good day."

Lavon heads out the door, and Wade slides an arm around Zoe's waist. "Alone at last." They're in the middle of a very satisfying liplock when the door opens and Lavon sticks his head back in.

"Almost forgot—no funny business in the kitchen."

Zoe blushes a bright red, and Wade laughs. "No promises, Mr. Mayor."

"Naw. Naw. Naw," Lavon admonishes, and withdraws. The door closes and Wade hands Zoe a plate of eggs and toast. "Better eat up, Doc. Big day of healin' ahead."

She checks her phone calendar. "Not too bad. Only eight appointments so far."

"Eight? That's pretty high cotton. Remember when you were excited to get one?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "Well, I guess you helped…in your own roundabout, Wade Kinsella way."

"Don't overwhelm me with gratitude, sweetheart," he chuckles, and she grabs hold of the front of his shirt to pull him in for a kiss. When they part, he continues, "I personally will never take a Bluebell heat wave for granted again."

Zoe gets up to rinse her empty plate, and he takes a deep breath—it's ridiculous to be nervous, considering that an hour ago they were naked in her bed—"So…I don't work tonight. You interested in maybe havin' some dinner?"

"You mean, now that you're not a married man?" she teases. "What did you have in mind?"

"Nothin' too crazy…Fancie's, maybe, or there's that new place in Fairhope…"

"If we go to Fancie's, you realize Dash will probably be hiding in the bushes with his camera, right?"

"That's a definite possibility," Wade acknowledges.

Zoe frowns. "It's just—are you sure we're ready for that?"

Out of nowhere, that sense of inadequacy, so recently buried, rears its ugly head again, and he says bitterly, "Yeah, no—you're right. In fact, probably best if we ain't seen together at all—don't want to damage your—"

Wade finds himself cut off, as Zoe steps close to him and puts a hand over his mouth. "Shut up. That wasn't what I meant at all, you doofus. I just don't want to flaunt things in front of Tansy…or George."

 _Oh. Well, in that case…_ "It's not like they'll be surprised…they both know how we feel…"

"You know what? You're right. Fancie's it is—Dash be damned."

"Now that's a sensible answer." He kisses her soundly. "Wish I could get Lavon to have that attitude…"

"You mean—with Lemon? He told you?"

"I've known for a long time."

Zoe puts her head on his shoulder. "I hate seeing him unhappy."

"Yeah, me too."

"Well…maybe we can do something about it," she says brightly.

"Oh, no—"

"Why not? People here meddle in each other's business all the time!"

"Turns out you got a lot more Bluebell in you than you thought, eh, Doc? But this is a bad idea. For starters, Lemon hates your guts…and she ain't too fond of me, neither."

"So, we don't have to let her know—we can just give the universe a little…push." She plays with the top button on his shirt, looking up at him through her lashes, and he sighs.

"How do you propose to do that, Dr. Hart?"

"I don't know." Zoe is undaunted. "I'll think of something!"

"That's what I'm afraid of," he declares.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Hope I hit the right level on the fluff-o-meter…seemed like we deserved a heaping helping, after all the angst we've been through!**


End file.
